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grayskies2525 · 21 days ago

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Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion) | Part 2/4

And here we continue with Evan facing the consequences of his little elevator ride.

CW: lots of mess

Word Count: 2,900

Part One

***

Part Two

Evan tries soothing the slight soreness he feels in his throat by rubbing his neck. The over baked pizza crust did not go down easily with that last swallow. He’d tried dissuading his roommate, Marcus, from ordering Domino’s for their dinner, but Marcus had been insistent. So, they’d split the little money they had between them to order a simple cheese pizza that, ultimately, turned out to be a major letdown — for Marcus, anyway. Evan figures he can't exactly be “let down” when their expectations were already on the floor.

Evan takes a desperate drink of his Pepsi in further efforts to ease the discomfort from his throat. The first drink does nothing to alleviate the soreness, so Evan takes another. Then another. He slowly brings up his fingers, again, to lightly trail them across his neck.

“This pizza tastes like shit,” Marcus comments from his place next to Evan on their living room couch.

Evan clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s almost like someone advised you to order from somewhere else.”

“I still stand by the fact that they don’t always burn it. I mean, when it’s good, it’s good, you know?”

Evan just rolls his eyes then reluctantly takes another bite of his pizza as he tries to focus on Rick and Morty and not on the increasing soreness of his throat.

At twenty-eight, Evan is certainly not living the kind of life he’d imagined for himself when he’d been younger. He’d hoped to be a prospering author — or even a not prospering one for that matter. He’d imagined marriage — to a nice man or woman — and possibly kids, maybe a house. Yet here he is, eating cheap, crunchy pizza in his run-down apartment that he has to share with a roommate out of necessity.

After a few minutes repeating the cycle of throat clearing, throat rubbing, and drinking an excessive amount of Pepsi, memories of the elevator incident from two days earlier resurface.

Evan can’t help but hang his head as he realizes what’s happening.

“Do we have any DayQuil?” Evan asks Marcus after clearing his throat, yet again.

“I don’t think so,” Marcus says through his mouthful of pizza. “We may have Tylenol or something. Why? Getting sick?”

“Hopefully not,” Evan says, sighing. Again memories from the man in the elevator flash through his mind. “But, probably, yeah.”

* * *

The next morning, Evan sits at the kitchen table and dabs at his nose with a tissue as he tries to remember what the day even is. His brain is impossibly foggy.

“You know, if you ate something with actual nutrients instead of an overly processed blueberry muffin, you probably wouldn’t be coming down with a cold right now,” Marcus says from his spot at the counter as he drops various fruits into a blender.

Evan sniffles and wipes at his nose again. “I get you’re a personal trainer so you think you know everything about health. And that not getting sick is as easy as taking in some vitamins. But I think even you, Marcus, would be coming down with this thing after getting blasted with sneeze after sneeze from a sick person in an elevator.”

Marcus shudders. “Ew, okay, please don’t bring up that story again. It was unfortunate I had to hear it the first time. Anyway, I’m just saying, you’re not setting yourself up for success with your current lifestyle.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “You ate pizza last night right along with me, Marcus.”

“It’s all about moderation,” Marcus says, shooting Evan a smile, before turning on the blender for his smoothie.

Evan wipes at his nose. This bug is settling in quickly. Since the moment he woke up that morning, it seems he’s not been able to go a single minute without having a tissue held up to his face. With his head feeling like it’d been stuffed with cotton and his throat screaming in pain, he’d groaned the moment upon waking and had turned over to his side, shoving his face into his pillow as though he could hide from having to face the day. This plan, though already doomed to fail from the beginning, made itself clear as being even more futile when Evan felt liquid pouring from his nose onto the pillow. It had been so much fluid that Evan was convinced it was a nosebleed. But when he’d raised his head to check, he could see that the large, damp spot on his pillow was entirely clear. So he’d sat up and grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and gave a long, gurgling blow. In the hour he’s been awake, he’d estimate he’s blown his nose in a similar way no less than five times.

He hopes this problem eases at least somewhat because he has an eight hour shift ahead of him and, in his experience, there’s not much worse than having to work retail with an incessantly dripping nose.

* * *

“Yes, ma’am, I understand, but there’s really not much more we can do. I mean, if you had actually bought the curtains from this store, then I’d be happy to return them, but seeing how this isn't one of our products… Well, it’s simply not possible to issue a return,” Evan says, hoping his hoarse, strained voice conveys the mandatory amount of sympathy he’s expected to have for these situations as one of the store’s managers.

The woman says something, but Evan is preoccupied by a sudden radiating tickle deep within his sinuses, so whatever inane chatter she’s likely spouting is lost on him.

“ADT’schhh!”

The first sneeze of his cold.

He feels wetness coat the back of the hand he barely managed to bring up in time. “In time” may be too generous of a way to phrase it, considering the not insignificant amount of droplets now visible across the POS system’s screen. He frowns at the screen, but quickly recovers, looking up and offering the woman a strained smile.

“Excuse me, um —”

But the woman huffs out a frustrated breath before turning around and marching out the store.

Good riddance, Evan thinks as he pulls out a crumpled tissue from his pocket to tend to the ever-present drip. He’s been at work for less than an hour, but his nose has already demanded he use what has to be — at least — a dozen tissues. He makes sure to thoroughly soak each one, coating every inch of the small white square, before getting a new one.

With the line of customers slowing down, he leaves the other associates to their work. He begins walking to the break room to get another tissue when he suddenly finds himself jerking his head forward.

“HH ADT’shuuUHH!”

He frowns. He hadn’t had any chance to even begin the process of trying to cover the sneeze. He feels shame course through him as he realizes he's just launched thousands of droplets from his mouth and nose straight into the air — droplets full of what has to be millions of incredibly contagious germs. He’s usually better at covering sneezes, but this time there had been no warning. He also hadn’t been expecting another sneeze so soon. Even when sick, he doesn’t sneeze all that frequently in a day. If he’d have to estimate, he’d say he sneezed probably 10 or 15 times a day when sick. So, two sneezes within a minute of each other is highly unusual for him.

He shakes his head as if to get rid of the pesky thought and determines to finish his shift without any more incidents.

He makes it to the break room before snapping forward.

“ADT’shhhuuuuhhh! AH-TSHUUUuuuhhh!”

Evan’s nose had, unfortunately, been full to the brim with mucus before the two sneezes — which means he’s now in what he considers to be an emergency situation.

He, instinctively, snaps a hand up to his face, clasping it firmly over his nose and mouth as he tries to ignore the wetness that’s now sliding past his lips and onto his chin. He spares a moment to internally thank whatever deity may be out there for the break room being currently empty of any other employees.

He walks briskly to the counter and grabs several tissues with his free hand from the box next to the sink. He winces as he slowly pulls back his hand. One part of his mind is preoccupied with how stringy the mess on his hands is, while the other part is alarmed with the realization that there is a glob of snot on his khakis.

How is that even possible?

He reaches out to turn on the sink, but a tickle in his nose has his breaths hitching erratically until he’s once again snapping forward.

“AHgt’shUUUUUhhhhh!

The sneeze is wet, but in a heavier kind of way. Evan can think of no other way to describe it. It’s thick and bursts out in a cloud that’s visible through the fluorescent lighting. It’s not the kind of fine mist that accompanies the sneezes that come along with his spring allergies. This is like… like germ-laden fireworks. Globs of mucus land on the counter and his shoes.

Evan, now covering his face with a tissue, reaches quickly for the sink handle as he contemplates how it’s even possible for someone to expel so much from their sinuses in less than a minute. There’s also a fair bit of his mind screaming in alarm at the realization he’d just sneezed all over the dishes in the sink. He quiets that part of himself down, though, because surely those will get washed, anyway, so it’s not like it matters.

He hears his name being called out over the radio he has clipped onto his pockets — someone’s saying something about “suspicious behavior” in the electronics department.

“Shit,” he mutters. His hands have only been in the water for a few seconds, but he has to get back out on the sales floor right now. He’d washed off the visible mess from his hands, so that’ll have to be good enough. He pulls his hands out from under the water, turns it off and weakly attempts to air dry his hands by shaking them, but ultimately decides they’ll just have to stay damp. He snorts back an egregious amount of mucus and makes his way back out to the floor.

* * *

Evan clocks the “suspicious behavior” instantly. Evan sighs and rubs his temples at the headache he feels coming on.

The guy hovering around the area displaying expensive headphones and smart watches looks to be no older than twenty. He’s wearing a backpack and his eyes are darting around furtively. Evan almost wishes this guy would have been even just a little less obvious because Evan simply feels too tired to deal with this. It’s not like he can even do anything. He can’t accuse him of stealing, or kick him out of the store or do anything at all useful.

But, still, there’s protocol he’s expected to follow — especially as an associate in a lead position.

“Hi! Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” Evan asks in the friendliest tone of voice he can currently muster after making his way over to the customer. He holds back a wince at how nasal he’s beginning to sound.

“Uhh, just looking,” the man says, keeping his gaze down at the floor.

Evan holds back a sigh. He is not feeling well enough for this. “Right. Well, I would love to assist you in any way I c-c — hold on — ADT’SHuuuuH! ADT’SHHHH!”

Evan mentally applauds himself at catching the two sneezes into the crook of his elbow. They’re not as productive as before, but they do leave a wet spot on his sleeve. Thankfully, he’d chosen to wear a navy blue button up that morning, so it’s not especially noticeable. It’s still weird as hell that he’s sneezing in twos all of a sudden. He doesn’t recall ever doing that. He doesn’t have much time, though, to ponder on this because he has a situation to deal with.

“Uh, bless you?” the shoplifter says, sounding dubious.

Evan gives a tight smile. “Thanks. You know, I could tell you about some of our popular — our p — hhh —”

Oh my god, is he going to sneeze AGAIN?

He quickly rubs his nose with the back of his hand, ignoring the wetness he feels there. “Uhmb —”

When did he start sounding so congested?

He sniffles — or more accurately, snorts before clearing his throat. “Uhmb, I cand tell you a— abo — hh ouut — our mbost popular FitBits if that’s what you’re loogkig for. I’ll oped the case ad you cad take a loogk.” He gives another heavy snort.

The shoplifter is now wearing an expression that looks as though he’s regretting his decision to choose this store to steal from.

Good, Evan thinks to himself.

Evan’s expecting — and hoping — the man realizes that it’s useless to keep up the act and go on his merry way somewhere else.

Instead, Evan notices the customer becoming visibly flushed — a splotch of red breaking out over his neck and rising upward. “O-okay, yeah, you can open the case.”

Well, now Evan feels kind of bad for this guy. Clearly, he’s not an expert at shoplifting and he's just so young. He’s probably in a pretty bad spot to be considering it. But, now Evan has to keep up the act too, so he lowers himself down to a crouching position on the floor — the man joining him. The case is small, so the two are practically huddled next to each other, their knees touching.

Evan wipes his nose again with the back of his hand before reaching into his pockets for the case’s keys. Once he opens the case, the man mutters something about wanting to take a look at one of the options, so Evan goes to grab the one he specifies.

He turns his head slightly to look at the customer and intends to prattle on about the product details but instead he —

“ADSHUUUHHHHH! ADg’shhhHHHHHHHH! AG’SHHHHHHHH!”

Oh my god.

It’s as though his body decided to use every ounce of effort and every drop of mucus inside his body for those three sneezes.

Three sneezes.

What the hell kind of virus did he manage to catch?

Evan brings his hand to cover his face, though the damage has already been done — to an excessive degree. The poor man's pale face has visible spots of wetness on it. His neck even has a thick string sliding down it.

Evan decides he would, in this moment, like to die. Forget about his plans for becoming a psychologist — forget about his desire to find a partner and to maybe have kids. All that matters now is that he just coated this stranger in three thick and heavy sneezes.

“I’b so EDT’SshuuuuuhHHHH!”

It’s another sudden, drenching sneeze that again hits the poor, unfortunate stranger in the face.

“Excudse m’be, uhm… Do you wadt mbe to uhmb… I cad… I cad get somb paper towels or — or heh? EDTShuuuHHH!”

He directs the last sneeze down at his lap, at least, but again has to wonder how much more mucus he has left in him. Evan wipes his nose, leaving a slimy trail along the side of his hand.

The poor would-be shoplifter genuinely looks like he’s about to cry and Evan has the weird impulse to just give him the FitBit to make up for the mother of all colds he’s surely just passed onto him. Because this guy has to catch it, right? Is there even a miniscule chance he won’t? Evan can literally see droplets from all the spray glistening on the guy’s lips. The sneezes were so thick, Evan swears he can smell them.

“Th-th-that’s okay,” the man says, nervously. “Um, I’ll just go to the bathroom and … clean up. And maybe just order one of these online. But… thanks, though, I guess,” he says, cheeks flushing. “Those sound like bad allergies,” he adds, an almost hopeful tone in his voice.

Evan rubs the back of his neck and tries not to look too directly at the sneeze-soaked man in front of him. “Yeah... definitely really bad, um... allergies.”

The man’s face softens with obvious relief. “Maybe take something for that,” he says before turning around and, presumably, heading off to the bathroom.

Evan should definitely go home. He’s so sick that it’s unreal. He’s not convinced that what just happened actually happened. Because who does that? What actual real human being sneezes that much and that forcefully? And all over someone else? Surely he’s trapped in a nightmare.

It’s fine, though, because he’s going home. He’s going home where he can rest and, most importantly, sneeze in his own privacy.

As soon as he has the thought, he hears another voice over the radio.

“Evan, just wanted to let you know, Courtney’s headed home sick.”

Evan closes his eyes and slowly opens them. Courtney’s the other team lead on the schedule today. It’s protocol they always have at least one of them in the store at all times.

He can’t leave.

He has a cold that seems to increase in severity with every millisecond, and he can’t leave.

“Evan, we need you at the registers,” says another voice over the radio.

He can already feel another sneeze swelling within his sinuses, ready to erupt at any moment.

Part 3

#this is so gross lol #but i'm having so much fun 😅#i'll probably make one or two more chapters #snz #snzblr #snz kink #snz fet #cw: mess #cw: contagion

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saturnville · 1 year ago

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marry me, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x amelia mae

content: john proposes to amelia mae.

an: I told y'all I'd write it eventually, hehe

John Egan did not have marriage in his cards. It seemed like a farfetch idea that was unattainable; at one point undesirable. He was a playboy, a rolling stone; women, alcohol, and the infamous party life at his fingertips. Those things consumed his life like a fire, until her cool waters calmed the flames.

He didn’t consider himself to be marriage material. He was selfish. Impulsive. Immature. The qualities any woman would reject in a good husband. But, she peeled back the layers and helped him discover what was under the surface. He was kind, gentle, protective, and so loving. To her, he was a dream.

Amelia Mae was the kind of women to never let slip through the cracks. She was too good of a woman to not be desired by other men. He would be a fool to not make every effort to spend the rest of his life with her. Who would he be without her?

Within two weeks, he had a velvet box with a gold ring inside, waiting to encase her finger. He was nervous. Nervous that he’d say the wrong thing, that he wouldn’t say enough, or that she’d reject his proposal an dhe be left feeling like a fool.

But, they’d grown so much together, they’d spent so much time together, they’d loved each other more than life itself. Would she really?

John caught her off guard. She was bustling around the kitchen trying to ensure the brownies for dessert were perfect. Crunchy on the outsid eand gooey in the middle just as they liked. She search the cabinets for powdered sugar, and when she turned around, she found the pilot on one knee, shiny gold ring staring at her. “Johnny…”

“I kept trying to find all the right words to say, but I don’t think words could amount to what I want to say. I just know that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my days with you. Rose, will you marry me?”

Amelia placed the bag of sugar on the table beside her. Her moves were slow and calculated. Her watery eyes dropped to the ring. Just as she described. Gold with the prettiest square diamond in the center. Stunning. She nodded slowly, a shaky smile on her lips as she tried not to cry like a baby.

“Yes?” John asked, eyes hopeful. Amelia repeated his statement with more authority and nodded. John let out a sigh of relief and smiled like a kid in the candy store. Slowly, he pulled the ring out of the box and slid it on her left hand. She examined it in awe.

“I tied down Major John Egan. Do I get an award?” She giggled softly. John rolled his eyes playfully and stood to his feet. He swept his thumb under her eye to wipe away the fallen tears and shook his head.

“Ha ha,” he replied, unamused. “But I don’t know, make it to the back fast enough and you might.”

Amelia’s lips pursed and her eyebrows raised in interest. She eyed the brownies on the eye of the oven then her fiance. She swiped one off the counter and skipped to the bedroom. “Don’t keep me waiting!”

With a chuckle, John watched her go, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the thought of spending the rest of his days with her As he followed her into the bedroom, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the woman who had changed his life in ways he never thought possible. In their shared moment, he knew that he had found his forever in Amelia Mae.

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brittle-doughie · 3 months ago

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Brittle I know that Halloween has passed but that Au post has got me thinking about Y/N monster aus. We had a short vampire au as well as mermaid Y/N but what about all of the other kinds of monsters?

Anyways here's a few of my favourite ideas feel free to use any of them!

Werewolf Y/N:

Self explanatory, would be funny with Werewolf cookie if they need up as polar opposites. Could also go well with Red velvet, Crunchy chip, Moonlight, Stardust and Dr Bones.

Harpy Y/N:

There are so many options for them, like they could be with Golden Cheese, Raisin, Captain Caviar (pirate hunter X menace to pirates), Pure vanilla. They could even be a member of the Spice Swarm or even an unofficial member of the Cacao Watchers, just hanging around to see their very pretty wife.

Frankenstein Y/N:

A blueprint for the perfect cookie. Honestly the Cookie of darkness interactions would be very fun since they could be a bit clumsy and fall apart a lot. (Licorice would be in charge of fixing them.) Butter Roll is completely obsessed with them and they could have a "If I'm meant to be the blueprint for a perfect cookie, shouldn't I be enough?" Crisis whilst finding solace in Matcha Cookie.

Selkie Y/N:

Makes so much sense and would work really well with anyone from the republic.

Minotaur Y/N:

Could go the mythological route but instead of getting slain they end up going through an Enemies-to-Lovers speedrun with whoever got sent in. Also could be not stuck in the Labyrinth to protect others but hanging out there to avoid getting hounded by marriage proposals. Eternal Sugar also gives me greek vibes so they would work well as a bodyguard for her.

I hope you enjoy these suggestions and I love your writing!

Mythical Mythos will have some of these actually.

#brittle answers

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cecilysass · 2 months ago

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Beacon (4/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic and my poangpal @libbytxf

Malina Knight lives in a ranch house off the state highway that is almost entirely swallowed by the snow-crusted woods that surround it on three sides.

It’s a rustic place that Mulder might think pleasant enough under normal circumstances—maybe a little shabby around the edges—but this afternoon, it strikes him as gloomy and forgotten. The trees shut out most direct light, so the walk up the front path, crunchy with hardened snow, is dark and cold.

There is a child’s Batman bike half buried in the snow. Mulder eyes it speculatively a moment before continuing up the walk to knock on the door.

The door cracks open a hair. “Who is it?”

“Ms. Knight?” Mulder clears his throat. “This is Agent Fox Mulder. We spoke on the phone earlier?”

“I remember,” comes the cautious voice.

“I told you I was going to come ask you some questions about your husband Jim. I won’t take very much of your time.”

“Jim died,” she says bluntly. “They said it was his heart.”

“Yes, I know,” Mulder says, softening his tone. “And I’m truly sorry about your loss. I just have some questions to ask you that could help other people. If you open the door, I can, uh, show you my badge.”

The door widens at once, and Mulder sees who he’s talking to. She’s very thin, the bones in her face visible. Late thirties maybe, long dull blonde hair, unkempt. She looks like she has forgotten how to have feelings.

“It’s okay,” she says flatly. “I’ll help you. You don’t need to show me anything.”

***

“Jim and I met at singles group at church,” Malina says. She lifts a photo off of the end table to show him. “Here we are right after we started dating. Bowling Night. See?”

Mulder politely looks at the photo of Jim Knight with his arm around Malina in better times, lifting brightly colored marbled bowling balls for the camera. “You look very happy.”

“We were happy,” breathes Malina. “People worried, because there was an age difference. But we were always so happy.”

“Age difference?” Mulder studies the photo of the two of them.

“Only fourteen years. It bothered some of my friends, but it never bothered me. Because love is more important than numbers. Don’t you agree, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “Did the age difference become an issue in your marriage?”

“No,” Malina says firmly. She looks at the photo in Mulder’s hand and her expression grows less certain. “At least … I don’t think it did.”

“Ms. Knight, I’m sorry to ask this,” Mulder says, watching her carefully, “but were there any difficulties in your marriage at the time he died?”

Malina’s lip trembles. “He needed some time,” she says. “A fishing trip. Some time away, to let us cool off.”

Mulder considers her wording. “He needed to cool off?”

“Jim could have a temper,” Malina says. “But it wasn’t anything serious, not really,” she adds. “He loved us. I know he did. Everyone could see it.”

Mulder walks to the mantel and picks up a large framed wedding photo. In that photo, Malina, dressed in white, has wrapped her arms around Jim’s neck and is beaming rapturously at him.

“You have a child?” Mulder says. His eyes roam over the photos on the mantel. Jim holding up a baby in overalls. Malina pregnant. Both of them swinging a toddler. “A son?”

“Our son Lyle,” Malina says, sounding like she’s behind a glass frame herself. “He’s seven.”

Mulder listens for a few seconds for any sounds in the house. “Where’s Lyle now?”

“He’s at my mom’s,” Malina says. “I…” She runs her fingers through her long blonde hair. “Well, I’m just not in a good place these days, since Jim. My mom is helping me out with Lyle, until I can get my head on straight.” Her eyes dart around anxiously, settling at last on the floor.

Mulder nods, pensively taking in her entire demeanor. She is, he’ll admit, not quite what he expected.

“They told me it was his heart.” Malina looks up with tears like ice shards all over her cheeks. “Do you think that someone killed Jim, Agent Mulder?” she says, her pitch rising. “Because yeah, our marriage wasn’t in great shape. Jim was unhappy. We were hoping to work it out. But I always, always loved him. I’d never have done something to hurt him. He’s the love of my life.”

The framed wedding photo is still in Mulder’s hand.

His world suddenly begins collapsing all around him as he sets it down carefully on the mantle.

“I think I understand you,” Mulder manages to say in a strange voice.

Malina loved her husband. Her heart was full of longing.

But it was Jim Knight’s heart that was stopped.

“Good,” Malina says. She wraps her arms around herself, nodding rapidly. “Good.”

Mulder staggers a little backwards, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process.

Malina squints at him. “Are you okay?”

“I …” Mulder’s mind is flooded with terrible, terrible images, images that make him break out instantly into a cold sweat. “I’m so sorry… but I have to go. I need to get back to my hotel. Right now.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I realized that… it isn’t…” He breaks off, swallowing. “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Knight. Thank you.”

***

He’s walking so fast to the car, trying to dial Scully as he does, that his feet begin to slip under him on the ice. He has to stop and steady himself, extending his hand with his phone out for balance, cursing.

As soon as he can, he smacks the phone back to his ear. She’s not answering. “Pick up, Scully. Fucking pick up the phone.”

His foot slams on the gas, and he begins to tear too fast on icy country highways back to the Beacon Inn.

Please, he thinks, it might be pathetic, it might be absurd, but she’s my only light in dark places.

***

By the time he pulls back into the parking spot at the Inn, he’s shaking all over like he’s twelve again, like he never grew into the adult he resembles. He forces himself to be steady, to think clearly.

He rushes through the door, waving a distracted hand at Banoy behind the desk, and he races for the stairs, thumping up two and three at a time.

There’s no ghost woman waiting for him in the hall. No living woman either.

“Scully,” he shouts. He bangs on her door. “Scully,” he calls louder. He realizes he should have asked Banoy for an extra key. If she is in cardiac distress, every second will count. He could have asked Banoy to call for the hospital right away. He tries to remember how to do CPR; he thinks he can—

Scully, wearing her glasses and holding a stack of papers, opens her door with an amazed expression.

“Mulder,” she says calmly, “why the hell are you screaming in the hall?”

“Scully,” he breathes in relief, his eyes drinking her in. He wants to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, but he knows he can’t, he shouldn’t.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I—” He realizes certain limits in what he can say. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

She scowls, walking over to the bedside table to pick her phone up. “I guess reception is spotty here,” she says. “I didn’t hear your call. Did something … happen?”

Mulder walks inside, his adrenaline still coursing. He feels like he may never be able to stop moving again. He paces a little back and forth to try to burn off his excess tension. “I was wrong,” he says. “Duncan was wrong. It can’t be that the ghost is targeting unrequited love. Because Malina Knight? Scully, that lady loved her husband. If anything, it was her love that was unrequited. Her feelings seem like they were stronger.”

Scully backs up to sit on the edge of the bed, giving him a quizzical look. “So now you think the ghost could be killing people who are the focus of unrequited love?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says, throwing his hands up. His pulse is still racing. “I don’t know anything about the other victims.”

“And how do you know that Jim Knight wasn’t simply in unrequited love with someone else?” Scully says practically. “You know. With someone besides his wife.”

Mulder stops pacing mid-step.

“You did ask the wife whether she knew if there’d been infidelity, right?” Scully says. She looks incredulous at his blank expression. “You didn’t?”

“I didn’t have the opportunity to,” he says, rubbing his hand across his mouth. “To be honest, I got worried and came back fast.”

“Why?” she says sharply. “Why did you come back? Did you have some reason to think I might be in danger, too?”

Mulder feels like a caught schoolboy. “No,” he says quickly. “No. I came back because until we figure this out, I’m not sure this inn is safe for anyone. I’m just getting spooked, I guess.” He swallows. It was a weak save, but she doesn’t seem visibly perturbed. He studies her. “And everything’s been… as expected here?”

Scully takes a half second too long to answer. “Yes.”

There’s definitely something off in that answer, but he doesn’t dare press more. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been sitting here reading through your historical research,” she says. She points to some books stacked on the bedside table. “As well as the myth of Hero and Leander, and the famous poem about the myth by Christopher Marlowe.”

“‘Who ever loved, who loved not at first sight?’” Mulder quotes wearily.

“Right,” Scully says, picking up the poetry book with a sniff. “That line is silly. The poem is interesting. I wonder if Hero was familiar with it.”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“Oh, I might,” she says, flipping idly through the pages. “But I don’t think it’s the only way to love.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I think I agree with you about that.”

There is a tense, unbearable pause.

“So now we have deaths that may or may not be homicides, inflicted by a killer who may or may not be alive, targeting victims who may or may not be experiencing unrequited love,” Scully says, snapping the book shut suddenly.

Mulder walks over to examine the silhouette of the man above her dresser again. He reaches out his finger to trace the craggy outline of the man’s face over the glass. “Maybe Hero is drawn to longing of some kind, some kind of heartache. Maybe it doesn’t matter if the person is the subject or object of longing. Maybe it only matters if the person is in her proximity. Maybe it’s the wanting, the unresolved, that draws her.”

When he turns around, Scully looks prim and disapproving, crossing her arms.

“But what if—”

She’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

***

Scully, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, purses her lips in dread at the closed door, making no move to get it.

“Scully?” Mulder prompts.

“Yes.”

She has absolutely no way to explain why she doesn’t want to answer the door, for the simple reason that she has no way to tell Mulder what she saw in the hallway before.

Not simply, not casually, anyway. It’s something she can’t easily explain with scientifically plausible language.

A figure that certainly appeared to look at her and beckon to her. There for five seconds, gone the next. A classic … ghost.

Admitting she had seen this—or that she thought she saw this, anyway, because even now she can’t rule out she was misled, deluded, mistaken—seems impossible just to say. Allowing these words to pass through her mouth is a Russian nesting doll of further implications.

Because what would telling Mulder she saw Hero communicate to him, exactly? What would she be tacitly admitting to? That she just deeply wants to see a dead woman because of her sister? That her subconscious hopes to be able to extend her reach beyond death?

That’s embarrassing enough, but then there is also what it could imply about her feelings, about a possible imbalance in emotional attachment towards her partner.

When he came rushing in like that, she thought he must have guessed. It’s the kind of thing he might do, with his frustratingly prescient mind. She thought he might have even guessed why she might see Hero, and rushed back to the Inn to save her from her embarrassing death by unrequited feelings.

But now she doesn’t think that’s the case. He’s not acting like he really knows anything is different. He’s just chaotic Mulder, who disappears one moment and shows up unexpectedly the next.

“Are you all right?” he says, staring at her with a quizzical expression.

“Sorry,” she says. “Yes, of course. Just tired.”

This is silly. You aren’t a jumpy teenager at a slumber party.

She forces herself to walk to the door and slowly opens it, steeling herself to see a woman standing there with an impossible lack of opacity, speaking nonsense to her about being her love. Instead, it’s Duncan and Banoy.

“Hey,” Duncan says, an expression of curious concern on his face. “We just wanted to check in. Banoy said Agent Mulder seemed to be experiencing some kind of emergency before?”

“Oh, yes— just a misunderstanding,” Mulder says quickly, walking to the door. “Everything’s fine now.”

“You’re sure?” Banoy looks him up and down suspiciously. “I almost called for an ambulance.”

“Yes,” Scully says. Her eyes move involuntarily to the space behind Banoy, darting up and down the hallway without thinking.

Duncan notices the direction of her gaze. “And you haven’t seen anything unusual, Agent Scully?” He raises an eyebrow. “Forgive the expression … but you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

She’s keenly aware of Mulder’s eyes on her. “Do I?” Scully says with a tight smile. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a believer in ghosts.”

Of course she isn’t. Not only are they the usual phenomena beyond the reach of science, they fly in the face of her understanding of a loving and omnipotent God. Her God wouldn’t let souls be stranded, unhappily plaguing the living.

You know what you saw. And you know you should discuss it with Mulder.

“I see,” Duncan says. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry to worry you,” Mulder says.

“Well, I also wanted to mention that you’d asked about Gary and Pam, the couple that stayed here Halloween and said they saw Hero. I called Pam this afternoon, and she insisted they come up to see you. Said they’d drop by right after they get off work.”

“That should be soon,” adds Banoy. “They work at the ski lodge, and they said they’d be here before six.”

“Oh.” Mulder seems to perk up. “I’m very interested in speaking to them, actually. Maybe we should go downstairs and wait, Scully.”

She nods, twisting her mouth to mask her frustration. She wants to slow down, talk matters through with Mulder, find a way to broach the topic of ghosts in the hallway on her own terms.

“Let me grab a sweater,” she says instead.

***

Gary and Pam Kromkowski are both young, no older than twenty-five, both willowy and athletic. They stand in the lobby of the inn peeling off their coats, matching sky blue with the logo of a nearby ski lodge.

“We work at Frosty Ridge,” Pam explains to Scully, when she sees her eyeing the logos on the coats. “Gary’s an advanced ski instructor and I do the kids’ lessons.”

Gary flops onto one of the sofas with colored cushions in the lobby and rolls his head back. “Whew-ee. We’re pretty worn out—this is our busy season.”

“We appreciate you taking the time to come talk to us,” Scully says politely, glancing at Mulder, who is standing next to her, looking unhelpfully dazed.

“Oh, we had to,” Gary says earnestly. “After we found out you were looking into those people that died.”

“See, we could have died ourselves,” Pam says, plopping down next to Gary. “We were so close, weren’t we, babe? We said, we have to tell people what happened.”

Mulder looks like he is taking all that they’re saying extremely seriously. He scrambles to sit down across from the sofa and leans towards them, his forearms on his thighs. “Tell me what you mean.”

“The ghost,” says Gary, lowering his voice and looking around, like he thinks Hero might drift around the corner. He clasps Pam’s hand. “I had the idea it would be fun to spend Halloween here, see. We both like horror movies, so I thought… scary creepy old inn, right? Good place for a couple days away.”

“Perfect for Halloween,” Pam agrees.

“Okay,” Mulder says. He seems to be thinking something over. “And you two were … dating? Together?”

The couple looks at one another slyly. “Well, yes and no,” Pam says. “We were… uhhhh…” She giggles. “We were fucking around. But we hadn’t, like, had the talk, right?”

“Right,” Mulder says seriously, like he is considering and absorbing that concept. Scully wonders if Mulder has ever had “the talk” with a woman.

“So she goes downstairs to get our food,” Gary says, “and I am coming out of the shower, and holy shit, there’s a lady standing in our room. Not standing, floating. A ghost. Like, an actual ghost you can see through.”

“Hmm,” Mulder says, nodding. “What did the ghost do? Did she say anything?”

“She kinda stood there in her old-fashioned dress and she said… what was it, babe? ‘Come on, I love you,’ all that creepy shit,” Gary says. “Pam knows because she saw her, too, like five minutes later.”

“I saw her in the hallway,” Pam says. “I was bringing up our food, Chinese. And when I get upstairs to go in our room, what do I see?”

“Ghost,” Gary jumps in emphatically.

“A fucking ghost,” agrees Pam. “And yeah, I admit I was scared. We didn’t think this was real.”

Mulder nods again thoughtfully.

“So Pam came back into the room. And she was completely freaking out, and I was completely freaking out,” Gary says. He looks Pam in the eyes, speaking affectionately. “We had to calm each other down.”

“What had you heard about the ghost before this?” Scully says, trying to get to the point.

“Well, we knew she was the love ghost,” Pam says. “We knew you had to, like, have feelings to see her. Everyone knows that around here.”

Gary runs his finger down Pam’s cheek tenderly. “So it kind of spilled the beans, and we told one another how we felt that night, once and for all. Got it all out in the open.” He lowers his voice. “And I asked her to marry me.”

He leans forward and kisses Pam enthusiastically, practically shoving his tongue down her throat. It quickly devolves into somewhat uncomfortable intimacy, hands crawling aggressively over ski pants. Mulder clears his throat, and Scully averts her eyes. She wonders wistfully when she got cast in the role of maiden aunt.

“So,” Mulder says as they break apart at last, “do you have any idea why you weren’t killed like the others?”

“I think it’s because our love was pure,” Pam says, still gazing at Gary. “Because she could tell we’re soulmates.”

“Ah,” Mulder says with a barely-contained sarcastic edge. “That could be it.” Scully notes his jaw muscle is tense. “You never saw Hero again after that?

“Nope,” Gary says. “That was all. We got married a month later, and now we’re newlyweds.”

“Congratulations,” Scully says formally.

“We just wanted to tell you,” Pam says proudly. “In case our story was important. Other people might want to protect themselves.” She leans back towards Gary, tilting her head invitingly. “With the power of love.” He takes the bait and presses his lips to hers, sloppily kissing her again.

Scully holds herself back from rolling her eyes. “We appreciate your assistance,” she says loudly. “I’m sure you’re very tired—”

“Pam, before you saw the ghost,” Mulder interrupts as the couple pulls apart, “you experienced … some kind of longing for Gary? And you for Pam, Gary? Would you say that’s accurate?”

Pam smirks. “Longing, sure,” she says. “If that’s what you wanna call it.” She giggles a little again, running her hands up Gary’s chest.

“I’ve got something longing for you right here, babe,” Gary growls playfully in a low voice.

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says, very weary of this, walking towards the door. “We’re grateful for your help.”

Even if it’s no help at all, she thinks darkly. She isn’t sure these two even saw the ghost. Like Duncan, she is suspicious that this is a little too good of a proposal story.

Mulder has apparently been deep in thought, staring steadily across the room, and looks vaguely surprised to see that the Kromkowskis are leaving. “Oh yeah … thank you,” he says vaguely, still staring. “Happy holidays.”

He doesn’t stand to walk them out, flopping back instead in the chair he is sitting in. Scully feels another twinge of irritation as she leaves him to his sprawl.

***

It feels like he’s losing his mind. One second he is sitting here talking to the Kromkowskis, and the next moment, he spots her out of the corner of his eye. Staring at him, silently, across the room.

Hero doesn’t say a word this time or move a transparent muscle. She only stands tall and straight, her expression something between judgmental and sorrowful. Mulder can do nothing but let his attention be completely distracted. He can do nothing but stare back at her in shock.

The Kromkowskis don’t see her, and they are sitting where they would have, if she were visible to them. It seems clear their vulnerability to ghostly murder was cured by eliminating their longing. How lucky can you be, he thinks, to have the yearning of your heart satisfied like that. Do the Kromkowskis even understand their good fortune? What happened to them was something that was probably not possible in the other cases. It’s certainly not possible in his own.

Of course Scully doesn’t seem aware of Hero’s presence either, although she doesn’t ever turn that direction. Maybe the best he can hope for from any of this is that it’s only him who dies.

It’s funny, he thinks, that he started this case hoping that she wouldn’t quit, and now he’s just happy if she survives him.

As he slumps in his seat in despair, his gaze irrevocably held by the strange countenance of a dead woman, he begins to hear something. Or so he thinks. He listens hard. A hushed roar in the distance, rising and falling. He pays close attention, but he can’t decide if it’s really there or if it’s his own troubled imagination.

The Kromkowskis leave, and Scully walks back to him, her mouth pinched in annoyance. He sits up and forces himself to look at her.

“Do you hear something, Scully?” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

She tilts her head and listens, scowling. “No,” she says. “What do you hear?”

When he glances anxiously back across the room again, Hero is gone. The rushing sound has vanished.

***

#poangpresents2024 #xfiles fanfic #x files fanfic #the x files #fox mulder #dana scully #xf fanfic #msr #season 3 #XF season 3 #beacon

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egcdeath · 2 years ago

Note

peanut

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: you and joel have a blowout argument… over peanut butter.

word count: 600

warnings: don’t read if you have a peanut allergy, borderline crack fic with how unserious joel and the reader are, crunch peanut butter slander, fluff, established relationship, domestic, slice of life, no outbreak, no use of y/n, not edited

authors note: send me a random word or phrase and i’ll write a drabble!

“Joel, what is this?” you were disgusted and appalled as you turned the blue-lidded jar over in your hands. What was meant to be a nice mid-afternoon snack had quickly devolved into a mid-afternoon nightmare as you laid your eyes on that label.

“What do you mean, ‘what is this?’ It’s peanut butter,” Joel dismissed, coming over from where he was lounging on his favorite recliner in his living room to the kitchen island where you were currently assembling yourself a snack. He wasted no time taking the jar from your hands, and evaluating the object that had caused all of this commotion in the first place.

“You’re kidding,” you said with a bit of a quirked brow and a slight squint of your eyes, attempting to gauge whether or not your partner was purposefully fucking with you.

“I’m not. What’s the big issue?” Joel unscrewed the lid and grabbed the knife you had sitting by your pre-jellied slices of bread. “Looks like peanut butter to me.”

“You don’t notice anything… off about it?” you pressed, watching carefully as Joel dipped the knife into the fresh jar and revealed an unappetizing, chunky paste.

“Mm… no? Should I?” from the way Joel made eye contact with you as he ran the now peanut-buttered butter knife against his tongue, you knew he had to be fucking with you.

“No special tastes or textures?” you emphasized, trying to get to the bottom of the situation. There was no way you’d married someone who buys chunky peanut butter on purpose. There was simply no way.

Joel shrugged dismissively once more, but the slight smirk he was sporting told you all that you needed to know. “Not a fan of crunchy peanut butter?” he finally asked, thoroughly entertained by the slack jawed look you were giving him.

“You actually like crunchy peanut butter?” you replied, somehow even more horrified as Joel happily crunched away on his monstrosity of a spread.

“Always have,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t dropping a massive bomb on you.

“No way,” you argued, in a bit of disbelief. If Joel really enjoyed crunchy peanut butter that much, your whole life was a lie. Your whole marriage was a lie! “You’re pulling a prank on me.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, still seeming quite pleased with himself.

“My God,” you gasped, clutching your chest. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“Someone with taste,” Joel pushed back, thoroughly entertained with your dramatics.

“You don’t even know how wrong you are,” you scoffed.

“Oh, come on, honey. Don’t you ever get tired of smooth PB?” he asked with a grin, taking pleasure in your horror.

“No, clearly not!” you exclaimed, a bit offended at even the idea of getting tired of such a classic treat.

“Well, I do,” Joel defended himself. “Just try it once. I bet it’s not as bad as you’d think.”

“Oh, I know it’s as bad as I think,” you rebutted, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched Joel dip the knife back into that sinister jar of peanut butter.

“Just try it once,” Joel repeated, inching the knife towards your mouth in the same way that you’d seen him do for your daughter a multitude of times. It seemed like a small miracle that Joel didn’t give you a, ‘Here comes the airplane!’

“If you don’t get that knife out of my face, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” Joel cracked a smile at your reluctance, which only fueled your annoyance more. “Joel. I’m not kidding.”

“Come on,” he sing-songed, amused by just how stubborn you were being. He continued to inch the knife closer and closer to you until you finally accepted your fate, sticking your tongue out unenthusiastically and trying out the peanut butter.

“Alright,” you conceded. It wasn’t half as bad as you thought it would be, but you would never tell your partner that—especially with the way that Joel was grinning at you from the other side of the counter. “It was okay. But you’re still sleeping on the couch tonight.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us fic #one word drabbles

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britcision · 2 years ago

Text

SNACKS!

For all y’all freaking about the ghost marriage joke 😉

Also Jason is not pregnant there is no mpreg but this will absolutely not stop him from bursting into fake tears to fuck with Dick if Dick mentions his “parasite”

——————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee part i

Jason was feeling good, really. Actually a little surprised at how good, considering.

That crunchy little ecto-ice chip had been better than a gallon of coffee, filling him with energy like he’d actually gotten a full night’s sleep.

He hadn’t actually felt this good since the night Danny slept over, which had been the night before last. Didn’t sound all that impressive, except that it had been the best he’d felt in half a decade.

Maybe the full decade. For all Robin made him magic, skipping sleep to fight crime had done a number on him in his teens. If he’d been as willing as Dickie and Tim to slack on his schoolwork, maybe…

Yeah, no, Tim was the poster child for Do Not Emulate This Sleep Schedule.

What mattered was that even after running the docks down with Black Bat for more than half the night and then getting up to get Danny, Jason felt fucking great.

A little more emotionally wrung out, sure, but he felt lighter for… having whatever that had been. Like the stress that had been compacting his chest had finally eased.

He may still want a pillow to scream into for a good six hours, but for him? Still a solid improvement. He felt like his brain was finally working again.

Which… meant he was fully processing that his fucking soul was vibrating in time with Danny’s. And every other ghost could just. Tell.

That was gonna make fight club… actually, Jason had no idea what the fuck it was gonna make fight club. By all accounts Danny being the Ghost King hadn’t made any of them less likely to throw down with him.

If anything, Danny had warned Jason that him being a “young” ghost would make the others more eager to fight. It was a kind of play, bonding and teaching the new baby their powers.

Sounded fucking terrifying by all accounts and Jason was just glad he had Danny to explain it to him, since apparently full ghosts just… knew it wasn’t serious. Even baby ghosts came into existence recognising the game.

Halfas didn’t.

Whiiiich meant that all the “playful” threats of dismemberment had sounded pretty fucking real to Danny, back when he’d been a baby ghost and had half the Zone flocking to “play” with him.

Pitty let out a rumbly little growl, like a sulking dog and Jason hid a snicker. Yeah, he’d also be kicking their asses that little bit harder for that given half a chance.

Actually, if they kept holding fight club, Pitty could take a chunk out of them itself.

That thought got him a contented little purr, which was weird enough that Jason was going to focus back in on Frostbite’s broader explanation. He hadn’t missed anything.

“In the sense that you have tied yourselves together, it may be somewhat like a marriage… however, it is a very different relationship. In a true love-union, your signatures would beat in time,” the yeti explained, gesturing once more to the screen.

Jason’s blob continued to pulse and blur a fraction of a beat behind Danny’s. Definitely not quite in time.

This was a relief. Yup. And Jason’s cheeks definitely weren’t any warmer than they’d been a minute ago, before he knew that, again, his fucking soul was echoing Danny’s.

Frostbite gave his tablet a couple more taps, and a pulsing blue line linked the images on the screen.

“In your case, young knight, your allegiance is marked in both your resonance and in your aura, which now carries a link to your King. His status is what defines your role as a knight, instead of a more casual bond.”

“No one’s king yet,” Danny protested, folding his arms and leaning into Jason’s side. Letting a little more of his weight rest on him.

Jason leaned in too, frowning from the screen to Frostbite.

———————

Tag List:

@welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle e @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel l @honeysuckletook k

#dp x dc #wip wednesday #danny fenton dead and loving it #well you did get down on one knee #i know jason didn’t yet but the joke is right there #chapter 17 part 1

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dawn-moths · 1 year ago

Text

"No Use Crying Over A Wolf"

Werewolf!Dabi x Female Reader

part 1 * part 2 * part 3

word count: 13,000+

(After surviving your first encounter with the notorious werewolf who lured you into the dark depths of the dense forest, you unexpectedly find yourself wanting to meet him again. But things are different now. He’s different now. And although you two come from completely different worlds, you can’t help but secretly wish there was a way you could be together. You’d certainly rather be involved with the dangerous wolfman than the overly persistent hunter who never seems to give up on vying for your attention and, eventually, if he has it his way, also your hand in marriage. Although, you soon might find both Dabi and yourself will be in danger, as the hunter seems to have caught your scent and followed the trail…)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! keigo/hawks plays a pretty big role in this chapter, your relationship with Dabi is more consensual this time, mentions of the church, reader is carried briefly, possessive Dabi, smut at the end, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, some brief aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Autumn seemed like an eternity ago, the cruel, bitter chill of winter seeping into your skin, your hair, your bones, every time you stepped out the door. But, as your mother always used to tell you when you began to worry about something, things will always change, just as the seasons do, coming and going with time and patience.

Before you knew it, the last of the snow and frost had melted away and the first buds of spring had started to sprout along the thin branches of the bare trees, the promise that change was indeed on its way.

Though, as much as you looked forward to warmer days, to leisure summers spent picking berries by the steady rush of the river, your mind had been unable to evade the crunchy leaves and fog of dawn that the fall had provided.

Because, what always cut through to light your way through those dark winter evenings were the brilliant blue eyes that had shone through the thick forest, the ones that seemed to glow iridescent as they’d tracked you through the mist.

You hadn’t seen the wolfman since that fateful day— the very same day you’d received the gift of your beautiful crimson cloak, which you usually wore on your way through town, drawing many an envious eye at the saturated, fur lined fabric— yet still he always found a way into your dreams, whether caught in a daze during the day or sleeping deeply at night.

You used to fear wolves. Hate them. But now, that had also changed.

Perhaps, you thought, it had been because you’d survived one, were maybe even confident that you could do it again. Or, the more likely explanation, it was because you’d grown rather fond of one wolf in particular, even if he was more man than monster most nights under the moon.

As you trudged up the hill towards your little cottage home atop the cliff, a wicker basket heavy where it was slung over the crook in your elbow, filled with fresh bread and vegetables from the village market, you replayed that night in your head for the hundredth time.

If you really concentrated, you could still feel his rough hands ghosting over you, taste the smoky flavor of his mouth on yours.

You used it to fall asleep most nights, sometimes your own hands wandering to try and replicate what he’d done, yet it never felt quite the same.

So, immersed in your daydream, you almost thought it was merely your imagination as the echoes of a distant howl faded into your serene, early spring soundscape. After a brief pause, you left your basket by the fence and took off running. Though it wasn’t away from the sound, like you’d been meticulously taught to do.

This time, it was towards it.

You felt a laugh bubbling up in your chest as you raced through the rows of pine, the edge of the forest bordering the small patch of valley that composed your backyard, growing giddy as the howl rang out a second time, closer now.

You used to become so afraid when you heard the distant echoes of a howl, knowing how dangerous and vicious the owner of the primal note could be. But this howl, as it rang out a third time, was laced with the smoky, teasing tones of the wolf you’d met before. It was a sound you couldn’t help but be drawn towards. You’d been hearing it in your dreams for weeks now. And Dabi knew you were coming to meet his call, beckoning you further down the winding paths of the dense woods, eager to see you again too.

The winters here were usually long, but this past winter had proved to be the longest and bitterest of them all. Not as much from the unrelenting weather and so much time forcibly spent inside, but more so from the intense loneliness that had come from knowing, when the snow piled up as high as the latticed windows, neither of you could trudge through the blizzard’s banks in hopes of meeting even if you’d wanted to.

As Dabi heard your quick little footsteps approaching, he had to force himself to suppress a smile, though you thought you caught a glimpse of those sharp, glinting canines as you broke through into the clearing that the secluded little spot hidden between the thicket provided.

Dabi stood there looking pleased with himself, as if he’d tricked you into crossing his path again, but you both knew it had been deliberate. You were just surprised that he dared venture this far from his territory, or rather, this close to yours— the territory of his enemies. He was practically in your backyard, your tiny cottage house still slightly visible in the distance through the thin, silvered gaps among the many tightly clustered trees.

He remained half concealed by the shadows cast down from the canopy, those cobalt eyes shining through the dark like two glittering sapphires before he stepped out and revealed himself to the light of day. And then, well…

Then you really were surprised.

Because the wolfman had shed the first half of his title, it seemed, the distinct ears and tail of the creature that cursed him seemingly absent this time around. Nothing left to remind you what he really was under the pale, scarred flesh of the human he had once consistently been.

“You— What happened?” you blurted out, the grin dropping from your face for a moment, concern and confusion taking its place only to be replaced by naive elation moments later. “What happened to your—? You look human now!”

But before you could get too excited, perhaps thinking that his curse had somehow been broken, Dabi stepped forward and bitterly informed you that he wasn’t cured.

“Full moon was a few nights ago,” he said, rolling his eyes a bit at your obliviousness. “Cycle starts over after a full transformation…” He reached forward, slow and steady this time, hoping you wouldn’t flinch away, and ran his fingers through the black, speckled fur on your cloak’s hood for a second before flicking his gaze to meet yours, cocking his head a bit, and asking, “Remember?”

You’d been so distracted by his sudden, casual proximity to you that it took a moment for what he’d told you about those afflicted with his condition to register, the realization then spreading across your face with a warm blush before fading into a sad, soft melancholy.

“Oh…” you muttered. “Right… Sorry, I—” Your sentence stopped short when you caught sight of his wrist. As he pulled it away from you, you noticed it was marked with several cuts and bruises. Fresh ones. Ones that looked like they hurt.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking his hand back in your own before he could try and hide the injury. “These are recent…” you noted, trying to examine the gashes closer, worry tugging cutely at your brow. “Did this happen on the last full moon? Did the hunters do this to you?”

Dabi let you handle him for a moment, caught off guard by your authentic concern. How often did he allow people to get close enough to touch him? And how rare it was that they’d be so gentle. But when you looked up at him with those big, troubled doe-eyes of yours, dappled sunlight catching on your long lashes and brightening your irises, he flinched out of your reach, pulling his injured wrist into his other hand.

“‘S nothing…” he lied, averting his gaze, feeling vulnerable under your attempted care. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stubbornly— and rather boldly— you reached forward and tugged his arm towards you again, revealing the wounds once more. Dabi swallowed, a slight scowl twitching on his brow, but he didn’t pull away that time. He didn’t dare, lest you never let him feel your touch again.

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it,” you lightly scolded him, gently turning his wrist to examine how the cuts wrapped all the way around, almost like he’d gotten his hand— or, perhaps, his front paw— caught up in some sharp, barbed razor wires. Traps that hunters had set in hopes of catching rabbits and other small forest creatures, no doubt. “This needs to be disinfected and wrapped. Stay here—” You let go of his wrist and were already turning back towards your house. Dabi fought the urge to reach out and grab onto you, not wanting you to leave so soon, even if it was temporarily and also for his own good. “We have some bandages at home. I’ll be right back!”

Dumbfounded as he watched you weave in and out between the gaps in the pines, Dabi’s protests had come to him a little too late. Not that you would’ve listened to them even if he’d remembered to speak. But he just couldn’t believe how much you seemed to care for him after what he’d done.

Because you didn’t even know his name yet. He didn’t know yours. And the last time you two had been in the same vicinity, he’d intended to do you more harm than good.

But, against his own wishes, he’d reluctantly grown his own fondness for you, the roots of the bittersweet plant entangled throughout every bone within him, the flower’s sating venom clouding his thoughts, oftentimes causing him to pace his territory in hopes of spotting a flash of vibrant red through the bleak streaks of grey and white that winter had painted over the woods. He would sniff the air, wishing he would catch a whiff of freshly baked bread and plump, ripe fruits or that distinct, delicately human smell of your skin.

Through the cold and the snow and the long, dark, lonely nights, Dabi could only dream of you, the feisty girl who traveled alone through the woods with a silver dagger and the fur of a killer frothed around her neck. He never imagined that you’d possibly be thinking of him over these last few months as well. But, as he lost sight of your flickering figure amidst the trees, as much as it tore him apart inside to accept the realization, it would probably be best if you two stopped seeing each other at all.

***

The first aid kit was tucked in between your grandmother’s cookbook and the cutting board. Once you’d procured some basic cloth bandages and a glass bottle half full of what you could only guess by the horrid, eye watering smell was pure alcohol, you doubled back towards the front door.

A thought crossed your mind then that it was a good thing neither of your parents were home. How would you explain taking such precious medical supplies? That you’d found an injured deer and wished to help it? If your father had been around, he would’ve just had you lead him to it so he could finish it off and drag it home where part of it would become dinner, the remains brought into town and sold for as many coins as they could fetch.

Unable to keep a beaming smile from lighting up your face, you supposed that you were feeling pretty lucky today. First you run into your favorite wolf and next you’re actually able to help him and make yourself a little useful so—

The moment you swung open the door to exit your home, you stopped short and froze, submerged in a shadow that stretched over the flat stones leading to the home’s front entrance and finding yourself face to face with someone you’d rather not see right that moment, or ever, for that matter.

“Hello,” Keigo Takami, the village’s most infamously charismatic hunter, greeted you with a charming smile. His blonde, wavy locks caught the afternoon sunlight like spun gold and he was bundled up in a tan jacket lined with fluffy cream colored fur— the result of several successful rabbit hunts in season’s past, no doubt. “I was hoping to find you at home. I thought I saw you in the market earlier…”

Your eyes went wide, and as Keigo undeniably noticed this, his smile dropped and the corner of his mouth pulled down into a slightly concerned frown. “I-I…” you stammered, former glee replaced with a nervous grin that spread crooked across your lips. You forced yourself to swallow down the fear, attempting to hide your alarm, lest you look suspicious and let him onto the type of trouble you’d chosen to associate yourself with. So, concealing the supplies under your cloak, you shakily lied, “I was just on my way out actually. Now isn’t really a good time…”

Keigo’s amber eyes seemed to flare with confusion before narrowing a bit, considering you with a skeptical stare. It was then that you saw him for what he really was, more hunter than human. It took every ounce of courage within you not to look away instantly.

Hawks.

That’s what most people called him.

They said he never missed a shot and always brought in the biggest haul of birds every hunt, providing the village with most of its poultry.

But it wasn’t just birds that he had a habit of hunting. It was people too— those the church deemed witches or demons. He was revered by the bishops and townsfolk alike for protecting the town, preventing monsters from lurking too close to the innocents residing behind the tall brick walls.

But you didn’t view him as a hero.

You saw him more as an executioner, for anyone accused was sentenced to be crucified and burned at the stake. He’d made sure of it, and even though he wasn’t necessarily the one striking the flint, he was still the one who helped drag the victims kicking and screaming all the way to the pyre at the center of town.

Even before encountering the wolfman and finding yourself a little more sympathetic towards those the church declared as evil, you hadn’t liked Keigo much. You hadn’t always been able to describe it, but there was just something about him you couldn’t quite read. It gave you a grave sense of unease and caused you to go out of your way to avoid him every chance you got. But, of course, the hunter had caught a glimpse of that red cloak billowing behind you as you’d weaved between the crowds in town and decided to pursue you.

The other women in town would call you foolish for evading his advances, whether they be a request to escort you home or a gift of fresh meat to take to your family for dinner, but you only saw his offerings as a strategy to get closer to his next target, the bait placed in the center of a trap.

Oftentimes, the words your father had used to warn you about traveling through the woods wearing such a bright color popped into your head.

Easier for hunters to spot, he’d said, and predators too.

You reckoned Keigo counted as both.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, eyes flicking down to where your fidgeting hands gripped the bandages and bottle under your cloak, that misleading grin finding its way back onto his deviously handsome face. “You seem…” he paused, considering you in a calculated, callous kind of way, “bothered by something.”

You cleared your throat, putting your hands behind your back and giving your most convincing sweet and innocent smile, even peppering in a cute little giggle for good measure before assuring him, “Oh, no, everything’s fine. It’s just— I really should get going. There’s plenty of errands to run before the sun goes down and I’ve barely even started.”

When Keigo’s expression softened, eyes flickering from cautious back to kind, you instantly knew that had been the wrong excuse to give. “Allow me to help you then,” he insisted, holding the door further open and moving out the way for you to step outside, gesturing with his free hand in the direction he assumed— and hoped— you would start down.

You passed by him, allowing him to close the front door shut behind you, and internally started to panic. Normally, when he caught you unexpectedly, it was somewhere in town. Similar to now, you tried to be polite, though denied him nonetheless.

The other young women would watch with jealousy and scorn as he perched against the wall and conversed with you, wishing to be in your place, knowing full well that the hunter lived a pretty comfortable life when he wasn’t surviving out in the woods. The moment you’d slip past his looming shadow and meekly apologize that you were running late for something, though never specify exactly what, hurrying out of town without looking back, their envy would turn to confusion, but the disdain would only grow as they watched him try to win you over time and time again despite your endless rejections.

As elusive as you could be, however, Keigo was just as stubborn. And now he practically had you cornered, coming all the way to your little house on the hill where he knew you couldn’t escape. Because where else would you go from here, besides back into town where he could follow you? Surely not into those dark, dangerous woods that bordered your backyard. What business could a sweet girl like you possibly have out there?

“What’cha hiding under there, chickadee?” Keigo teased with a chuckle, craning his neck as he came to walk beside you as you automatically headed around to where your meager livestock was kept, hoping that you’d think of a good enough lie in between now and then.

“Hiding?” you repeated, playing dumb. Luckily for you, you were pretty enough that some people might believe there wasn’t a whole lot going on in your head. You liked to use that to your advantage when the situation called for it. “Nothing. I’m not hiding anything…”

Keigo smirked, coming to a stop in front of you before you could reach the low gate of the goat pen, barring your path. “Show me your hands then,” he challenged, raising his eyebrows as his gaze narrowed, trying to act like he was simply toying with you.

But you knew that those playful sounding words were more order than suggestion.

You glanced behind him where the steepled roofs of the village poked over the jagged, pine-lined horizon. It was quite a trek from the town all the way up the hillside to your home. He must’ve spotted you during your grocery run and followed you home. You hated that he knew where you lived. Hated that he felt like he could come up here whenever he wanted.

“It’s just some medical supplies…” you sighed, holding both your hands out in front of you and showing him the bandages and the bottle, knowing you’d lost this battle. Then, hearing the baby goats beginning to bleat, thinking they were going to be fed again upon seeing you, you conjured up the perfect lie. “One of the goats got cut on a piece of wire that broke off the fence,” you explained. “It’s nothing serious. I just thought I’d see what I could do and—”

“Your fence is broken?” Keigo cut in, looking over his shoulder to try and spot the area in question, but you quickly pulled his attention back to you, not wanting your cover to be completely blown.

“Keigo, now isn’t really a good time,” you began again. “I—”

“Let me fix it for you,” he insisted, wearing that arrogant grin as he added on, “Wouldn’t want you and your family to lose your livestock again.”

It had been Keigo who’d oh so generously gifted your family the goats about three months back. Another desperate attempt to try win you over and prove himself worthy to your parents of earning your hand the day you’d finally agree to let him have it. And as he began to turn on his heel to open the gate, you took a frantic step forward, starting to say that you could handle it on your own, but this time what cut you off mid-sentence was a gasp from your own mouth.

You suddenly found yourself falling forward, tripping over the untied shoelace of your favorite brown boots. Though, it wasn’t the ground that your body found purchase on next, but the solid, warm strength of the persistent hunter, his arms bracing you against his broad chest as he tried to help you find your footing again.

And you were so close to him.

Closer than you ever wanted to be.

If the other young women in town could see you now, you were sure their hatred would flare so bright their eyes would turn red with loathing and anyone who witnessed it would report them as possessed.

“Careful there, dove,” Keigo simpered with another one of those irritatingly patronizing chuckles. And you, feeling even more awkward than before, quickly righted yourself and pulled away from his grasp, kneeling down to tie your pesky shoelace while mumbling something passive-aggressive under your breath.

“What was that?” Keigo asked, leaning over you a little further, his shadow engulfing you again from above.

As you stood, however, you flashed another one of those fake smiles you’d damn near perfected and said with your own brand of condescending coolness, “You know, my parents aren’t home at the moment. Don’t you think it’s a little unseemly for a young lady to be spending so much time alone with a man who’s not even courting her?”

That time, when Keigo’s expression changed from arrogance to embarrassment, you felt a sadistic little victory ignite within your chest.

Try talking your way around that, you thought with petty triumph, still smiling like the innocent little angel you pretended to be in moments like this.

“Y-you’re absolutely right…” stuttered Keigo, cool, calm, and collected facade cracking as he cleared his throat and tried to slide back into that smooth, casually charming air of his. “I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way. Though, if you ever find yourself in need of any assistance,” he adjusted his jacket over his shoulders, beginning to walk past you and towards the steep slope that would lead him back to the village, “please don’t hesitate to seek me out.”

With a final nod and a muttered farewell, you watched until Keigo’s silhouette disappeared down the hill. Once he was gone, you unclasped the gold facet on your cloak and left it hanging on the little wooden bench beside your back door, not wanting anyone to be able to spot you taking off back into the woods.

But as Dabi saw you running his way that time, he retreated.

He’d snuck up to keep an eye on you, feeling his heart twist in his chest as he viewed that haughty hunter strolling towards your front door, watched the two of you migrate around to the goat pen, witnessed the way you’d smiled so sweetly for him.

He’d felt a growl rumbling in his chest as you fell into Keigo’s arms, wishing for perhaps the first time since his turning that it were closer to a full moon so his teeth were a little sharper, that he had claws to rip the blonde’s throat out with.

Because, in his absence, you’d found someone else after all, hadn’t you?

Of course she has, he thought as he swiftly wove his way deeper into the maze of pines.

How could he ever fool himself into thinking a girl like you— a perfect, pretty little human— would ever end up with a wretched creature like him?

***

“Sorry it took so long…” you began to apologize as you reentered the clearing where you’d left Dabi, a little out of breath from your sudden sprint. “Ran into an unexpected visitor… God, he’s always—!” But your complaint was cut short as you looked up and realized the wolfman was gone, the rest of your fiery explanation turning to ash on your tongue.

Straightening your posture and slowly pacing the perimeter that the pine created, you wanted to quietly call out his name, but then it once again occurred to you that you didn’t know it.

You doubted he’d respond well to, “Here, boy,” even if he were still around to hear it.

So, a little puzzled but figuring he’d had a good reason for leaving, you placed the roll of bandages and vial of alcohol down by one of the trees’ exposed, mangled roots and headed back home, all the way cursing Keigo for interrupting you.

You didn’t know how long it would be until you saw the cerulean-eyed stranger again, but the next day when you returned to the clearing to retrieve the supplies you’d left, you found them gone.

***

The tavern was rather lively at this time of night, the sounds of rambunctious laughter and drunken arguments overlapping to score its own melody over the upbeat music being played from one corner where the village bard enthusiastically strummed his mandolin.

Amidst it all, Keigo sat at the bar, his head in one hand, fingers absentmindedly combing through his honey locks as he mulled things over, staring down at his warped reflection in the rippling amber liquid that filled his glass. The look on his face was one of strained concentration, as was to be expected when one could barely even hear themselves think in the tiny, overcrowded pub.

The hunter cradled the stein in his other hand, his drink barely touched, another sign he was caught in his own thoughts, wondering what he’d done that had made you hate him so much.

Then, from the other end of the counter, a fellow hunter called out a teasing, “Oh, cheer up, Hawks! And why don’t you finish your drink, while you’re at it! That is, unless you want me to finish it for you!” before bursting out in a fit of laughter, clearly already way past tipsy from the blatant blushing of his cheeks and slurring of his words.

Even though this bit of unwarranted commentary irked Keigo, he forced himself to snap out of his brooding for a moment and throw some playful banter back at his acquaintance, saying in the same cheerfully teasing manner, “I think you’ve had enough, don’cha think? What’s the missus gonna say when I show up at her door with you slung over my shoulder and barely conscious again, huh?”

His friend shouted something back, but Keigo couldn’t quite hear him that time. So, as he was known to do from time to time, especially after a plentiful hunt, Keigo slapped his hand down on the counter and called out, “Y’know what! Next round is on me!” He pointed to the drunk hunter who howled out with the chorus of cheers, and playfully warned with a quirk of one eyebrow, “But it better be your last one!”

After that, the ruckus only built as the barmaids served out full glasses to everyone in the rickety old establishment and the bard began to play another fast-paced, jolly tune. Keigo took the jovial, drunken distraction as his opportunity to slip out of the tavern in search of a quieter place to sort through his worries and woes.

The streets were nearly empty at this time of night, the cobblestones shimmering under the dim lanterns flickering inside their sconces, ground shiny and wet from the quick storm that had rolled in and passed through the valley earlier that evening.

Keigo’s boots tapped down the empty road, wandering aimlessly towards the old water well where he sometimes went to think before a hunt. But then, as another set of footsteps echoed from the opposite side of the street, the hunter stopped and stared into the adjacent alley, watching as an unfamiliar figure stepped out from the shadows and into the dim lamplight.

He squinted, unable to identify the lanky form through the faint glow cast down from the crescent moon, and when the figure stopped to stare back at him from across the street, Keigo felt dread fill his stomach like a flood.

It was the same feeling he got right before he fired off an arrow he knew wouldn’t bury itself in the hide of an elk or the wing of a duck mid-flight, his intuition turned razor sharp after years of studying patterns between good fortune and bad.

The stranger’s eyes flashed a vibrant blue, the kind of electric cobalt that cut through the night. Keigo shifted his gaze to what appeared to be a bag of some kind in the shadow’s hand, getting a feeling the man— if he was even human— was a thief, at the very least.

“Hey!” Keigo called, taking a step forward as he reached for the hooked, serrated knife used for skinning secured at his belt. The blue-eyed silhouette remained frozen on the other side of the street, staying as still as one of the holy statues standing in reverent prayer by the entrance of the church, both of them waiting for the other’s first move.

And then, Dabi took off running, Keigo giving chase.

They wove in and out of the market stalls, Dabi jumping over the counter of the butcher’s stall, Keigo following suit. They chased each other through the town, sprinting over the uneven cobblestones, past the looming cathedral, and closer to the edge of the high wall that surrounded the village.

Dabi let Keigo gain on him, waited until the last second, then darted into the next side alley.

When Keigo turned that corner, however, breathing hard and ready to strike, adrenaline coursing through his veins, he was horrified to discover the dead end vacant.

Cautiously, he ventured further down the narrow nook, thinking the thief had some kind of trick up his sleeve and was waiting for the right moment to attack and make his real escape, but after a few minutes, the hunter came to the conclusion that he was truly alone once again.

Confused and caught off guard, Keigo backed out of the alley with caution, slid his knife back into its sheath once he was sure the threat was gone, and headed home, forgoing his original plan of visiting the well, glancing over his shoulder here and there as if expecting to see that distinct flash of blue from the corner of his vision.

He may not have been too sure about who the culprit had been, but there was one thing Keigo knew without a doubt…

Whoever it was— whatever it was— they certainly weren’t human.

***

The following week, you found yourself back in town to replenish your pantry, marching reluctantly down the hill that morning, praying that you wouldn’t run into Keigo Takami again after that awkward encounter outside your house.

As you strolled the streets, your wicker basket already half full of loose spices stuffed into linen pouches tied up with twine and a couple of apples marbled red and yellow slightly rolling with every stride, you began to feel uneasy. It was almost like you could feel someone’s gaze tracking you, the growing panic of being followed a familiar and dreadful thing.

After paying the baker and tucking the loaf of fresh, warm bread into your basket, you glanced over your shoulder and scanned the moving crowd across the street, expecting to find a pair of golden eyes staring you down or catch a glimpse of that misleading smile that disguised itself as charm. But, with the hunter nowhere in your line of sight, your imagination began to fill in the blanks with other, more favorable possibilities.

You headed further into town, noticed the traffic of people growing thinner, and when you thought no one was looking, you turned down into a vacant alley.

As your steady pace began to slow, a mischievous smile crept across your lips. Because perhaps this familiar feeling of being followed could begin to carry a little more fondness than fear. Maybe it was your favorite wolf sneaking into town for a visit. He struck you as someone who’d take the risk.

But then, hearing footsteps tapping on the cobblestones behind you, rounding the corner into the alley, you turned. As soon as your gaze met gold, the eager grin dropped from your face.

“Keigo—” you nearly gasped, taking a few steps back as he approached closer. He looked troubled, brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth turning down as if he was about to become the bearer of bad news. “What’s wrong? Why are you following me?”

You tried to hide your nerves under a giggle, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. The hunter mumbled something, said he needed to talk to you, and guided you further down into the alley where you wouldn’t be overheard.

“It’s not safe here,” Keigo began, his voice low and dangerous as he leaned over you, shadows cast over his face and making you more wary of him than you already were. “You need to get home. Stay out of town for a while.”

“Why…?” you dared to ask, the syllable quivering a bit as it left your mouth.

“Just trust me, alright,” he pressed, avoiding your question. “I’ll take care of it, but until then…” He glanced over his shoulder at the opposite end of the alley as if expecting to see the topic of his concern peering around the corner. He let out a sigh, raking his fingers worriedly through his tousled hair, and then wrangled a reassuring smile onto his tired looking face, even if just for your sake.

“I know you’re not very fond of me,” he stated, unable to suppress the sliver of disappointment that slipped through into his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you. So just go on home and don’t worry about anything, ok? I’m going to take care of it.”

Before you could try and fish for more answers, he was ushering you out of the alley, repetitively telling you to go home any time you attempted to open your mouth to protest.

Eventually, you gave up. Gave in. Headed out of the town and towards the hill that led to your home. You looked back once, seeing Keigo standing at the village’s arched wrought iron gates, watching you. Making sure you continued to obey. When you were at the top of the hill, you looked back again, feeling your stomach sink when he was still there, now merely a pin dot of tan and cream and gold. He could see you even from that far off too, your red cloak serving as a beacon to him.

You clutched your basket tighter in trembling hands and swallowed hard. Pulling the cloak further over your shoulders, you turned away, continuing the rest of the way home.

Even when you disappeared around the bend, the village no longer in sight as you peered over your shoulder, you could still feel it. Keigo was no doubt still standing there. Watching. Waiting. Counting the steps he predicted it would take you to reach your front door and get inside.

***

“Oh, you’re back!” your mother beamed, coming over to take the basket from your hands. It had grown heavier with each step up the hill with all the extra anxiety weighing you down. “How did it go?” she inquired cheerily, raising her eyebrows playfully. “Did you happen to run into that nice Keigo boy again?”

You tried to hide the fact that you were, for many reasons, shaken.

“Not this time,” you lied, a nervous grin tugging crookedly at your lips. As you headed towards your room, you said, “I’m quite tired, actually. I think I’ll lay down for a bit,” before your mother could pry any further.

Her good mood faded into gentle concern, replying with a slightly melancholy, “Oh… Alright then…” before leaving you be and beginning to prepare dinner.

As your door closed behind you, the urge to sneak out your window and go running into the woods suddenly became overwhelming.

Because all you wanted to do right now was find Dabi.

You wanted to warn him, just knowing he was somehow involved in all of this, as if he didn’t already know.

But you knew you couldn’t. Not now, anyway.

The next time you had a delivery to run, however, you’d plan to find him.

Until then, you just hoped he and Keigo didn’t cross paths.

***

Five painfully long days later, your next delivery was packed neatly into that old wicker basket and slung over your arm.

The afternoons were growing warmer lately, the sun hanging in the sky just a little bit longer. The buds on the trees were slowly beginning to bloom in tiny blossoms of pink and white and small patches of green were popping up among the faded landscape leftover from the winter’s frosty kiss.

As you’d headed down the path into the woods, you tried to remember where you’d first veered off through the fog last fall, scouring your surroundings for anything familiar, but it was no use.

All you could seem to recall from that fateful day was the flash of those glowing blue eyes that tracked you through the dark and the eerie, echoed humming of your mother’s melody. After that, it all became a jumble of panic and praying to make it out alive.

So you continued on to your grandmother’s house, greeted her with a grin when she opened the door, gave her the weekly update of your daily activities, and helped her make some delicious pumpkin soup before curling up by the fire and reading one of the old fairy tales she kept on a bookshelf while she worked on her knitting.

That’s about where the calmness of your night ended, your worries worming their way into your sleep and sending you into a restless state of tossing and turning, quick flashes of Keigo standing over the bloody corpse of a black wolf pierced with arrows cutting through your dreams on the few occasions you did manage to slip unconscious.

Needless to say, as the sun shone in through the latticed windows the following morning, you cursed the day, exhaustion weighing over you like a heavy quilt. But you knew you had to get up, redress, and head out by noon in order to make it back home before dark.

The sky overhead was painted with thin, wispy clouds, a nice breeze offering a gentle reprieve from the sun’s warm rays. You strolled the path absentmindedly, head hung a little low as you began to think maybe you wouldn’t discover a way to seek out your wolf on your own after all. But then, as if in reply to your despondent sigh as you lazily kicked a rock with the toe of your boot, you heard a rustling sound from nearby.

Instinctively, you perked up and drew your knife, hoping it was just another rabbit or a deer grazing on the freshly grown grass and not something more dangerous or deadly. The moment you saw that familiar shade of blue though, you relaxed your stance and let out a surprised giggle, your furrowed brow smoothing as an expression of relief spread across your face.

“It’s you!” You declared as Dabi stepped into better view through the thick greenery, trudging over tufts of wild fern.

“Who else would it be?” He flashed a smirk, teeth sharp and glinting, but in a way that was more mischievous charm than ill intention.

He looked the way he had when you’d first met, the ears and tail of a wolf plain as day, another full moon undeniably approaching.

“I was looking for you,” you explained excitedly, sliding your dagger back into its sheath and trotting over to meet him. You then shifted your gaze to his wrist, which had healed quite nicely since the last time you’d seen it. But then your cheer began to ebb as you remembered how he’d left you during your previous encounter, causing your worry to regrow anew, the thorny vines of the carnivorous plant scraping against your heart.

Because perhaps he wasn’t as excited to see you as you were to see him.

If he was, he sure was doing a good job of hiding it.

Inside though, Dabi was using every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself. He’d been hoping to run into you too, finally catching your scent as the breeze carried sweet honeysuckle and fresh bread through the sea of spruce and pine.

“I was worried about you,” you admitted, your tone dropping down to a darker octave. “Did something happen? I mean, did you run into the hunters? Kei— I mean, one of the hunters said he’d spotted something dangerous near the town and I was afraid they might’ve seen you and—”

You were talking a million miles a minute, question after question rolling off your tongue before Dabi could even choose one of them to answer.

“Hey— Hey!” He interrupted your rambling, grabbing you by the shoulders and giving you a slight shake. “Slow down—”

“Why did you go into town?” you blurted out, distressed eyes pleading with him. “Why would you take a risk like that?” You were near tears but tried to contain them, a frustrated scowl pinching on your brow. “He saw you! He saw you and now he—”

As your voice broke, you swallowed what remained of your sentence, knowing even one single syllable more would send you into a fit of sobbing.

Dabi’s pointed ears drooped back, a strained kind of concern lacing itself through his scarred face then. He could feel your shoulders trembling beneath his palms, so he cleared his throat, swallowed, and said, “Yeah, I went into the town. I needed food. My supplies were running low and—”

“Why?” you squeaked, shooting him a look of pressing anger, your tears finally welling enough to spill over, droplets rolling down your cheeks in shimmering pairs, the small patch of dappled afternoon sunlight that shone overhead making them glitter like diamonds. “Why didn’t you just ask me to bring some to you? Why would you risk your life like that?” You were becoming more upset by the second and Dabi didn’t know what to do.

He’d never had anyone show such concern for him before. And, while he’d been the cause of other’s tears before, it had never been like this.

“I could’ve been bringing you food every time I ran a delivery to my grandmother,” you told him, words garbled with your sorrow as you tried to wipe away your tears with the edge of your sleeve. “You could’ve just asked me— I was so worried— Just ask me next time—” Your hiccuping sobs were turning into sporadic little sniffles now, and after Dabi removed his hands from your shaking shoulders, he wondered why…

Why had he chosen to withdraw from you when what you probably needed most right now was his comfort, as unpracticed and awkward as it was?

He didn’t want to leave you to cry on your own. What he wanted was to reach out and pull you against his chest, run his long fingers through your soft hair and soothe you— in his own rough around the edges kind of way— as he promised he would never make you worry like that again.

“I’m sorry…” was all he could manage at the moment, averting his gaze from you and glaring down at the ground, frustrated with himself. “I just thought…”

As you drew in a sharp breath, pulling his attention back to your face, Dabi saw you looked more angry now than you did sad. Gravely serious, you warned, “You don’t understand. If Keigo decides he wants to hunt you, he’ll find you. Keigo will kill you. God, I— I thought maybe he already…”

That time, when your emotions overtook you and sent you into a new fit of tears, Dabi didn’t waste the chance. Moving towards you slowly, as if afraid he might spook you like a rabbit that went off running upon the first sign of a threat, Dabi put his arms around you and pulled you into an embrace. It was surprisingly gentle, at first, as if he was afraid you were far more delicate than he already thought you to be and if he held you too tightly you might break. But then, when you returned the gesture, clasping your trembling arms around him, he took that as permission to hug you a little tighter, your ear pressed to his warm chest to listen to his beating heart.

“It’s ok,” he muttered, the words vibrating faintly against the side of your head. His fluffy black tail curled around your back as if to shield you, cradle you, and then he said, “I’ve gone this long without getting caught. You don’t have to worry about me so much…”

Looking up at him, so much earnest concern woven within your gaze, bottom lip still quivering a little as you attempted to hold back another hiccuped sob, you eventually were able to clear your throat and clarify, “You don’t understand how persistent Keigo can be. Once he marks you as a target, he won’t stop until he has your head. He’ll hunt you down and kill you if it’s the last thing he does. That’s just who he is. Please… I just— I don’t want that to happen… Not to you, I—”

“Wait,” Dabi cut in, one brow quirked up in befuddlement, holding you at arms length now, big, rough hands still resting carefully on your shoulders. “So you mean you two aren’t…?” When you stared back at him equally confused, Dabi couldn’t help but crack a crooked, embarrassed grin. He wouldn’t admit he’d been wrong, at least not out loud, but right about now he was starting to feel a little guilty for brushing you off for so long under his own false pretenses.

Once you realized what his unfinished question had been alluding to, you quickly assured him, “Me and Kei— Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I mean, he looks out for me and helps my family sometimes but…” You could feel Dabi withdrawing more and more with every frantic word that left your mouth. Then you said, “He might have feelings for me but I— I don’t want to be with him. I want…” To be with you.

If only you could say those words out loud and truly mean them. But, the fact of the matter was, right now, you didn’t know what you wanted.

In a perfect world, one where you wouldn’t be crucified for having relations with a creature of the night, you probably would pursue whatever had been growing between the two of you without hesitation. But you knew what would become of you, and what would become of him, and maybe even your family too, if anyone, no matter how much you thought you could trust or confide in them, ever found out you and the wolfman had even met.

Dabi seemed to recognize this too— had recognized this a long time ago and had fought against it, then fell into acceptance of it, then gone back and forth between the two until he couldn’t tell one emotion or decision from the other. Even so, he began to remind you, “You know why we can’t…”

You shook your head, feeling the ever looming threat of tears prickling in the back of your nose once more. “I know…” you muttered, burying your face back into his chest. “I know but…” But you still couldn’t help but want it all the same.

“But, y’know…” he raised, some of that unbothered nonchalance bleeding back into his voice, the normalcy of that tone putting you a little more at ease. “At least until you find another human to be with,” he rolled his eyes upon the word as if it were a casual insult, “I’ll be here for you.”

You just wanted to stay like this with him forever, swaddled in his warmth and the scent of pine and campfire smoke. You wanted to live in his world of trees and moonlight rather than your own of cobblestone streets and the deep clanging of distant church bells. You wanted him to take you back to his cabin so you could study all his knick-knacks properly this time, so you could learn about each one and its significance to him.

You wanted to learn his name.

You wanted him to hold you again.

“I can tell my parents I stayed an extra night at my grandmother’s…” you shyly suggested, sounding half-apologetic as if feeling ashamed for suddenly imposing yourself on him. “We can go back to your place and…”

And he could put his hands on your body in all the ways you’d imagined and tried to replicate over all these long, bitter months you’d missed him. You could give yourself over to him completely willingly, forget that he was a wolf and pretend that he was an ordinary human just like you.

For a second, Dabi wasn’t sure what you were alluding to, not used to you being so bold. But, again, it had been a while since you two had last really seen each other. Who knows what ways you could’ve changed, ideas you could’ve come around to, in all that time apart.

And those deceivingly innocent doe-eyes of yours were already starting to drive him crazy, making his mind go to all kinds of dirty, shameless places about his fantasies, the ones he’d concocted during his own sleepless nights, having purposely stayed as far away from you as possible during the seasonal mating urges that accompanied his condition for only the most obvious of reasons.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding deviously confident now, trying to keep his tail from wagging in excitement about what this opportunity meant. “Alright,” he nodded, keeping an arm slung possessively around you.

You were his special little human, after all. And if that golden haired hunter wanted to try and take you from him, well…

He’d just have to become the monster your kind was so keen on believing him to be.

***

The cabin was almost exactly as you remembered it, only now, without the haze of trepidation clouding your view, you noticed a lot more details than before. Like the small collection of smooth stones lined up in order from biggest to smallest on one of the shelves, the rocks probably worn from a life spent lounging in a riverbed. You could imagine Dabi pacing the edge of the flowing path, gazing down through the layers of ridges and ripples until he spotted the little piece of condensed earth and reached down into the icy waters to claim it.

There was also an array of what appeared to be little handmade dolls, six of them braided and woven from pieces of long, dry grass in varying sizes— a whole family. It reminded you of the curses that the church warned of witches leaving behind, only, seeing them here, all you could think of was a place, a people, that Dabi could’ve come from before he’d been forced to leave his old life behind.

But, above all else, what really stuck out to you as you scanned your gaze about the place was that it was a lot neater than your first visit. Dare you consider it actually organized. It made you wonder if he’d put a little extra effort into his house chores lately in preparations for a very special guest.

He’d never admit it to you, but Dabi had been preparing to convince you to come back here for a long time now. Nearly six entire months. Making his den nicer for your return had been deliberate, intentional, yet when you made a comment about it to compliment him he just gave a lazy half shrug and an unaffected, “Yeah, it’s whatever I guess…”

He stoked a small fire in the hearth, directing you to the warmest seat nearest to the flames, while he curled up on the beat up old sofa where you blushed to recall he’d taken your virginity, the place where the shared addiction the two of you had secretly harbored for each other all this time had began.

“I can’t believe no one’s found this place yet…” you absentmindedly muttered, leaning in closer to the crackling fire while you continued to look around, even taking the time to study the ceiling, tracing the hairline cracks that zig-zagged through the old foundation like fault lines.

Then, as if forgetting Dabi was even there, you nearly flinched when he chimed in to comment, “Who says they haven’t?”

The look in his eyes was pure, white hot malice. That one expression alone was enough to answer any unasked questions, like what happened to anyone who crossed paths with the cabin? Full moon or not, Dabi was more than capable of getting rid of any witnesses. But you didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not when you were actually trying to forget your fear and enjoy your experience here this time around.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” you announced, standing from your chair and going to retrieve something from your basket. When you returned, you were hiding it from his view within cupped hands, wearing a smile as if barely able to contain your joy. “These are my favorite! My grandmother makes them this time of year and she sent me home with a ton of extra this time!”

In your hands you held out to him some type of small cinnamon cookies, their sugary swirl sparkling when near the firelight. Once Dabi had a couple in his palm, popping one into his mouth, and you’d retaken your seat to enjoy your share, you sighed to yourself and said, “I’m really gonna miss these some day…”

Your grandmother’s health had slowly been declining over the last few months, her heart and lungs and bones not as strong as they used to be. This past winter especially had done quite a number on her. It was an unavoidable fate you tried not to dwell on but…

“Guess you’ll just have to learn to make them,” Dabi commented, thoroughly enjoying the bite sized morsels but trying not to show just how much. When was the last time he indulged in real sugar? Even during his human years, it had been a rare commodity, his family having too many mouths to feed just for the sake of staying alive to worry about unnecessary expenses like sugar and sweets.

“Yeah, I guess…” you shrugged, not seeming too thrilled with the notion. Then you sighed, “It just wouldn’t be the same…”

When Dabi noticed your melancholy smile, he paused before finishing his final cookie, realizing he must’ve said something wrong. He leaned forward, reaching out one hand to place on your knee in hopes of it offering you some kind of apology, then retracted a bit to himself when he realized he couldn’t conjure any words of comfort.

God, he sucked at this. Even when he was trying to do the right thing, as few and far between as those occasions were, he just couldn’t seem to get it right. He cleared his throat softly, trying to swallow down the lingering insecurities, then said, “We all die someday. But not everyone gets to go as the person they started as…”

Not everyone gets to go surrounded by those they love, either.

And, when Dabi’s final day came to pass, who would be there to bury him? According to the church, demons weren’t buried, they were burned, reduced to blackened ash and then scattered around the village’s perimeter to ward off any other evil creatures that lurked nearby.

But they’d tried to tie Dabi to that pyre and ignite him once and failed. You doubted he’d ever give them the chance to do it again.

“I’m sorry they did this to you…” You nearly whispered, voice airy and broken as you cupped a soft palm to his scarred cheek, gently brushing your thumb over the remnants of the burns and feeling the warped skin glide unevenly beneath your touch. “I’m sorry you have to live out here all alone. That even by going into town they might…” You felt your sympathy for his circumstances swell, threatening to bring tears to your eyes again, so you cut your last sentence short and let the remainder of it linger.

“Stop that,” Dabi said, but there was a guilty kind of smile twitching at his lips. Taking your face in both his hands, he stared you in the eyes for a moment before pulling you close into his chest. He couldn’t hold your gaze for too long when you looked at him like that— like you liked him, like you might’ve actually loved him— with such a fragile tenderness filling your eyes, and for him of all people.

After pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he kept his lips against your hair and murmured, voice raspy and raw, “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

And even though that was true, whether you’d known him back then or not, it still hurt. It hurt knowing no one had done anything for him back then, that no one had even tried.

“I just wish they could’ve known you like I do. Like this,” you replied, words feather soft yet still splintered with small shards of resentment for the village you came from, the people who preached love and acceptance only to turn around and torch the first thing that they thought didn’t fit in. “If they did, maybe they’d change their minds about—”

“Just stop.” He was more direct that time, a barb of harshness spiking through his words. But when you looked up at him then, you saw the loneliness he tried so hard to hide shining through all that entrancing blue, shimmering like the dewdrops that blanketed the valleys like a veil of glittering lace upon the first light of dawn.

You began to protest, “But it’s not fair—”

“Fair, unfair…” Dabi cut in, his grip on you tightening a fraction. He shook his head, a minute little motion that barely shuddered through you. “What happened is long past any of that. They’ll always see me as a monster,” and so a monster he became. “I can’t control what happens under a full moon,” so killing a couple civilians would only be expected. “The next one’s only a few days away now…” So you should probably hide from him before he ended up convincing you he was a monster too.

But, no matter what he said, no matter what excuses or reasons he or anyone else gave as to why you should keep as much distance between him and yourself as possible, you’d never see him that way. As a monster. As evil. As what could very likely become your untimely end, either by his razor sharp claws and gnashing, pointed teeth, or by the church and their ominous, sacrificial pyre settled at the center of town, just waiting for the next witch to be tied to the cross and burned all in the name of something holy.

It was like this, when you were closest to him, that you feared you’d lose him forever. You realized you had no say whether he stayed or disappeared from your life. Someone like him did as he pleased. But, as hard as it would be to feel his absence again, you thought you might be able to live a little easier with the loss if only you knew just one thing about him.

It was the question that had haunted you ever since you two had first met.

“What’s your name?” you asked, hoping he’d actually oblige you this time. Things had gotten a little more personal as of late. Plus, you didn’t want to be wolfman and little rabbit to each other forever.

He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time, as if he’d finally found the answer to whatever unasked question always seemed to be lying in wait behind his eyes. He said, “You can call me Dabi.”

He had a real name, one from before he was turned, but he’d let that boy burn to ash in the fire along with his humanity. Having to leave his old life behind, he just thought it easier to abandon his old name too.

When he explained this to you, he expected you to press him on it. But you didn’t. You just assured him that, as long as that was the name he wanted you to call him by, it was good enough for you.

“Dabi…” You rolled the syllables around in your mouth, repeating his name a few times until the acquired taste became something sweet and you were beaming that bright, carefree smile at him again.

He cracked a small grin as well. He liked hearing you say his name and he wished he’d told you sooner. And then it occurred to him…

He didn’t know yours either.

So, after you told him and he practiced saying it with his own mouth a few times, the sound of it not as angelic and tender when spoken with his rough, raspy voice as you had the ability to make his name sound with yours, you both realized there was no going back. You were no longer strangers, no longer a stray girl wandering through the foggy woods and the devil come to tempt her.

It was the most intimate moment you two had ever shared. It felt like fresh air on an autumn day, like sinking into a hot bath after walking home in the cold. It felt like home. It felt like never letting go. It felt terrifying and elating all at once.

Eventually, you two even began to laugh together, just repeating each other’s names back and forth until a giggle rose up in your throat and Dabi caught the chuckle like it was contagious. There wasn’t a moment his touch broke from you, and once the frivolity of it all had died down, his hands began to roam, slowly wandering across your soft, warm skin until he had you straddling his lap, head lolled back as he left spit-shined bruises along the column of your throat, intoxicated by the stuttering rise and fall of your chest while you gasped and whined, now able to shape your lilting little mewls into the letters of his name.

“Dabi…” you whimpered, only spurring him on more, causing him to nip you a few times just to hear another one of those adorably delectable little sounds. He could’ve listened to you moan his name all night and never gotten tired of it. And, as your hands began to explore the untraversed plane of his pale, scarred skin, feeling his stomach flinch when your fingertips lightly ghosted over that part of him, little hands eager to reach lower, Dabi felt impatience swell from within him, something dark and hungry rearing its head from deep inside his chest.

“Off,” he growled, the long skirt of your dress bunching up in his rough hands, already attempting to strip you of the garment lest he rip it to shreds. He nearly forgot he had to unlace your corset before he could pull the flowing fabric, today a pale seafoam green with embroideries of white and gold at the hems, over your head and expose your fragile human body to him.

His mouth was already watering, the desire to devour you down to your core quickly becoming overwhelming as his hands made frantic and slightly rough work at pulling the laces of the hickory brown corset sinched in at your waist loose, both of you eager to have you rid of the confining thing.

The moment you became bare to him, he dove back in, his mouth seeking out yours while his hands kneaded at your breasts, your butt, your thighs, and as he continued to leave a trail of fervent kisses across your skin, down you cheek and neck to your collarbones and shoulder, you were wrapping your hands in the fabric of his shirt and trying to pull it over his head.

When you struggled with this particular task, Dabi let out another low, impatient growl, yanking it over his inky spikes and pointed ears and tossing it aside as if disgusted with it. When he looked down at you next, the carnality of the beast inside of him seemed to settle for a moment, his fleeting humanity flickering back to life behind his dilated cerulean gaze to something more tender.

Because you were giving him one of those sinfully sweet smiles, both hands reaching for him, openly beckoning him closer. His movements then slowed, lowering his lips to meet yours for a languid kiss rather than an urgent one that time. Because there was no need to rush now. You weren’t going anywhere. He could finally take his time with you.

Your little fingers were soon clumsily fumbling with the buckle of his belt, trying to undo it but unable to get a good enough grasp whenever he shifted on top of you.

“Off…” you whined, repeating his earlier wishes back to him, only yours came out as a pathetic little plea accompanied by an adorable pout.

Dabi chuckled, going to do as you asked but only getting halfway, the belt unbuckled but still threaded through the loops in his trousers when you sat back upright to place a trail of your own gentle kisses across his bare chest, following the line of his scars like they were a path to guide you. The sensation there wasn’t as heightened as the unharmed parts of his body, but still…

The fact that you weren’t scared of them, weren’t repulsed by the marred flesh, didn’t find the injuries ugly— quite the opposite, in fact, you found that those patches of his skin probably were in the most dire need of loving attention— made his heart stutter behind the cage of his ribs.

He was starting to accept that he wanted more of you than just your body— might have developed actual feelings for you— and that terrified him more than the hunters and the church and being alone for the rest of his life combined. Before he could become too anxious over it, he went back to the distraction of your flesh, one of his hands slipping between your legs and brushing up against where you were most sensitive and aching for him.

“Wait…” you hesitated, pulling back from him just far enough to look into his eyes, the electric blues glowing through the dim darkness that flooded the cabin now, as bright and alluring as the crackling fire beside you. For a moment, Dabi was afraid you’d changed your mind. But then you requested, “Can we go to your room this time? I-I want…”

Well, honestly, you just wanted to continue this on a bed.

Dabi seemed to understand, cracking a crooked smirk and running his palms slowly up and down the dip of your waist, an affirmative hum that sounded closer to a growl rumbling through his chest as he hoisted you up, pulling a slightly started gasp from you, before beginning to carry you up the creaky staircase to where he slept.

In the short time it took to go from the couch to the mess of blankets atop the old mattress that served as the wolf’s nest, you tucked your face into the crook of his neck and tried to memorize the scent of him. He smelled unlike anyone or anything else, and part of you wondered if that indescribable, otherworldly aroma had something to do with his curse. It was addicting, intoxicating, something about it making you feel safe and turned on with just a single whiff. It was more than just the undertones of the pines and that smoky campfire scent. There was something woven throughout the entire smell that could only be described as purely and uniquely him.

Lowering you onto the edge of the bed, after wrapping one of the patchwork quilts around your shoulders as a light shiver skittered across your skin, Dabi slowly let his cock spring free from the waistband of his trousers, letting out a muffled groan through clenched teeth at just how painfully hard he’d become. He then finished kicking off the rest of the garment before climbing atop the sunken mattress to rejoin you. He made sure you were comfortable, surrounded by enough blankets to keep you warm, and pulled the quilt over his back to create a cocoon around you, shrouding you in further darkness and warmth.

Up here, there was only the illuminated glow of a nearly full moon slipping through the gaps in the curtains to see by, the rustling of the newly budding leaves brushing together as the wind swept through the treetops, the distant hooting of an owl echoing beyond the dusty glass of the window panes.

Even in the dark, Dabi could see you just fine. It was, perhaps, one of the only perks of his curse, being able to view things clearly through the cover of night, his cobalt eyes blazing through the shadows.

Until your eyes took their time to adjust to the dark, all you could perceive was the gentle huffs of his breathing and the feeling of his hands gliding over your skin, stopping to knead at the softest parts of you he loved to touch the most.

When he reached your thighs, admiring their velvety plushness between his calloused fingers and palms, you felt your little hole flutter in anticipation, tummy flinching as more arousal pooled thick and warm in the pit of your stomach and began to leak out of you.

Dabi pressed a tender, open mouthed kiss to the underside of one breast, his mouth repeating the sentiment down your abdomen, to the soft raise of your lower belly, working his way down your thighs, your skin pebbled with gooseflesh as a sudden chill skittered up your spine despite the enveloping warmth.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, hot breath fanning over your pussy, leaving a coolness in its wake that told you just how wet you’d truly become for him. “Hm?” he propositioned, the hum playfully lilting in his throat. You could tell he was smiling even without being able to see him clearly just yet, could hear the cruel amusement in his voice when he said, “Or are you gonna make me use force again?”

You tried to swallow down the whimper that was rising in your throat but ultimately lost that battle, your voice breaking on his name as if pleading for him to say it again, to say all the dirty things he wanted to do to you, whisper them in your ear until you were begging him to follow through and prove he wasn’t all talk.

You knew he wasn’t. He’d verified that much the first time around. But still. You wouldn’t mind if he gave you a little preview of what he had planned for you tonight. Although, as you already knew, his words could never compare to the act itself.

As his long tongue lolled out to tease at your swollen little clit, your back arched instantly, overly sensitive to the foreign sensation. And, god, it felt so fucking good. He ate you out like a man starved, not missing a single crease or fold of you, his obscene slurping sounds causing a new wave of heat to surge through your blood.

With his tongue spearing into your tight, fluttering little hole, moaning against you as he felt your cunt clench around the slick muscle, Dabi wrestled your thighs still when they desperately writhed beneath his hold. Every time his nose nudged against your tender bud, you felt yourself already teetering on that dangerous edge. Threading your fingers through his tousled hair, you grabbed a fistful of course ebony and gave a sharp tug, causing another groan to simmer in his chest, Dabi’s eyes rolling slightly as the sound vibrated against your pussy, sending another shockwave of pleasure shooting through you like electricity.

When he pressed his tongue flat and ran it roughly up the length of your soaked slit, you felt yourself tip over that edge.

“Dabi—!” you cried, legs trembling and your head thrown back, mouth hanging open with a silent scream.

Your first orgasm of the night came crashing over you like a wave colliding with a cliffside, unstoppable and almost violent until Dabi helped ease you through it, his face shining with his saliva and your slick when he pulled away, murmuring words of praise to you while his thumbs massaged gentle circles into your hips, tracing the dip of your waist back and forth with nonsensical patterns until your shuddering gasps smoothed over and your quivering figure came to rest.

Your eyes were closed but you were urging him towards you again, lightly grasping his arm to make sure he didn’t stray too far. Dabi used the back of one hand to wipe his mouth, though there was still a mess left surrounding it. He didn’t care. He kept absentmindedly darting his tongue out to catch another taste of you.

“That’s it…” he sighed, planting both hands firmly on your thighs again. “Knew you were my good girl… God… Just look at you…”

You only caught about half of what he’d said, your heart beat pounding in your ears as that saccharine, post-orgasm haze clouded your mind. You were too weak to resist when he spread your legs back apart, exhaling a shuddering breath in knowing that this night was still far from over. You’d just barely recovered from round one before Dabi’s fingers were already dipping back between your soaked folds, spreading around your lingering arousal, some of it already turned sticky on your skin, to stimulate your tender little bundle of nerves all over again.

“That’s it, baby…” Dabi cooed, taking his sweet time to stretch you open in preparation, first inserting one finger to test your tightness, then a second to begin gently scissoring inside of your pulsing pussy. Then, as if only to himself, he sighed, “God… You have no idea what you do to me…”

Because the first time, as good as it had been, had been conditional. It had been selfish. It had been a hunter luring in its prey. Now, the rabbit had willingly returned to the wolf’s den, running towards the sharp teeth and gleaming eyes and ignoring every instinct that told it to run away.

His cock was aching to be inside of you, velvety head blushed a deep pink as a bead of precum glistened like a pearl at the tip. Dabi guided it in his hand to glide between your silky folds, pulling a tiny, adorably started gasp from you when it caught on your drooling little hole.

“Please…” you were eventually begging him, tortured by his teasing ministrations, a thin veil of tears misting your lashline. “Please, Dabi, I need—” A short, broken cry clawed its way up your throat when he unexpectedly inserted a few inches inside of you with a quick, sharp thrust, the sweet sting of the stretch his cock carved out in you flooding you with adrenaline and arousal.

Dabi meant to shoot back with something sarcastic, being a little mean to you a habit he couldn’t seem to entirely abandon, but what came out was a strangled, “You— fuck— Y-you really want it that badly, huh? Greedy little— hng!— Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

You both winced as he pushed in a little further, the way your cunt constricted so tightly around him nearly knocking the next breath from his lungs. You were so tight it almost hurt him to sink in deeper, both of you trying to catch your breath and adjust to the intensity of each other’s bodies.

Dabi shuddered, pointed wolf’s ears twitching amongst all his inky tufts of hair, ribs expanding and deflating with short, rapid, panting breaths. You were gripping his biceps for dear life, nails biting little crescent moons into his thin flesh when you felt him quivering from inside of you, letting out little sounds of pain that blurred into pleasure as he finally began to move again.

“Good… Good girl…” Dabi praised you once you’d relaxed enough to allow him to sink all the way in, wincing when you felt him brush against your sensitive cervix. It hurt less than the first time, but it was still uncomfortable. However, when Dabi began to massage little circles on your puffy clit, still a bit overstimulated from the first round, it helped to take your mind off the soreness growing inside of you.

As he worked you back up, his hips moved in tandem with the pressure he applied to your little hooded nub. “Mine—” he growled, biting down on his bottom lip hard in order to resist the urge to sink his teeth into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. “All— All mine—”

When he sensed you were getting close again, his thrusts became more erratic, losing all rhythm until his hips stuttered and stilled, letting out a strangled moan as he filled you to the brim with sticky ropes of his hot, thick cum. You were completely spent, feeling as if your consciousness was slowly drifting away from your body, mind lulling itself into a peaceful, sated state.

You both were caught in a bout of panting in the midst of the come down, bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat and no longer needing all the quilts that encapsulated you. Dabi pulled out and rolled over to lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your shuddering body and pulling you closer into the heat that always seemed to be emanating from his being no matter the situation or the season. He kissed you on the temple and listened to your breathing slow as you began to doze off to sleep.

As he stared at the ceiling, he was incredulous as to how he’d gotten you back beneath him, in his own bed, willingly. Especially after so much time apart. Especially after how he’d treated you the first time you’d met.

Maybe being around you caused him to recall some of his humanity. The notion half comforted, half petrified him, and as he carefully rose from the mattress to retrieve something to clean you with, part of him resented the softness you brought out in him. It wouldn’t last. The moment you were gone from his territory he’d start shifting back into the monster he’d accepted himself to be and you’d go back to being his secret little fantasy, always feeling like a world away despite the fact he could find his way to your cottage home by scent alone.

“I just wish they could’ve known you like I do…”

He pulled the quilt back over your body once he was done tending to you, sitting up to watch you sleep for a few minutes as a thousand different realities flashed through his mind. Ones where he’d never been changed. Ones where he’d become a hunter who could get down on one knee and ask for your hand. Ones where your roles were reversed and ones where he turned you so you’d have no choice but to stay by his side like he’d once done before his maker had been reduced to the decoration around the collar of your cloak.

What the hell am I thinking, he sneered to himself, shaking his head with a quick twitch as if to throw the thought from his brain. He could never damn you to the kind of life he had, burden you with this curse that would never end.

He thought about taking you and going somewhere far away, just fleeing from these woods and going to a place where no one knew you, hiding away in a village that didn’t have a pyre looming at its center, if such a haven even existed.

No, he begrudgingly countered that option, surely that troublesome hunter would follow if you went missing, based on what you’d cautioned about his relentless determination.

However, if he were able to eliminate that threat, perhaps there could be a chance you two would be able to cover your tracks. The full moon was coming. It would be the perfect opportunity to get rid of Hawks. Dabi could already imagine the way his golden curls would look soaked in his own dark blood, turning his hair black under the cover of night as Dabi watched the light leave the hunter’s eyes.

For now though, that would have to wait.

In the meantime, as Dabi lay back beside you and tried to quiet his runaway mind, he began considering what he could scavenge up for your breakfast tomorrow morning.

***

Keigo was swift and soundless as he followed the tracks through the woods. Even in the dark, the brightness cast down by the moon blotted out under the thick canopy of pine, he could make out the pair of curious and distinct footprints that seemed to travel side by side.

One set of prints were heavy and dragged a little, gait appearing lazy at times. The other, however, was much more familiar. They were boots. Women’s boots, based on the size and stride pattern they followed. They strikingly reminded him of the ones you wore— your favorite ones— with the laces that always came untied without you noticing.

Which only meant one thing.

The notorious wolfman must’ve kidnapped you, stolen you in the night like a greedy thief swiping ripe fruit from a kiosk in the market.

Keigo remembered the flashing blue eyes of the silhouette he’d seen in town that night, the man who disappeared into the shadows like he’d been a part of them.

He’d counted his arrows and cleaned his favorite hunting knife that afternoon, intending to bring you back a portion of his most recent catch in hopes of further convincing you that he could provide for you, if only you’d accept the proposal he’d been ruminating on for who knows how long now. But, when he’d made the journey up to your cottage upon the cliff to drop by, planning on earning some favor with your parents so maybe they’d pester you about “that nice Keigo boy who’s always coming to check on you” again, only to be told you hadn’t returned home on time from running your most recent delivery to your grandmother’s house, your poor mother already starting to fear the worst, well…

How could he help himself? Of course Keigo went out looking for you.

And, Keigo figured, even if you weren’t his yet, there was still time to win you over. Perhaps saving your life from a vicious monster would finally be what it took to open your eyes to just how far he was willing to go to care for you.

So, as he continued his strategic trek through the winding woods, almost scoffing at how easy it was to follow the tracks, the perpetrator clearly not paying much attention to the damp weather that had given him away, Keigo made a vow.

He’d rid the village of its oldest myth, its most dangerous legend.

And he’d do whatever it took— kill whoever it took— to get you back alive.

***

(Sorry it took me an entire year to get part two out but here it is! I hope you enjoyed it! Perhaps there will be a part 3 to wrap it all up by next halloween lol. Anyway, until then, I hope you all have a wonderful day and take care of yourselves <3)

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themousefromfantasyland · 7 months ago

Text

Bluebeard

by Bruno de La Salle

If you love fairy tales, you need a French friend. I read this version of Bluebeard when I was a child. It stuck with me, because in this version, there’s a dark, melancholic, and dream-like romance between the protagonist and the titular Bluebeard, here reimagined as a prince cursed into being a giant.

But I could never find this book again.

My good friend @adarkrainbow helped me find it and I will forever be thankful to him.

@ariel-seagull-wings , this is the Bluebeard I talked about. A Bluebeard tale that is also a mix between Beauty and the Beast and Prince Lindworm.

"Curse, curses, Spells, imprecations: Words of blood, words of lead."

There had been a curse and no one knew why, for whom or in what way. But what remained certain was that misfortune was there. There was, in this kingdom where neither king nor laws existed, a poor old man who had just lost his wife. And this poor man had lost, with his wife, his courage, his good humor and the last grain of brain that remained to him.

He had had three beautiful sons, they had been away at war for six years and would not return at the earliest after seven.

He had only his daughters left: four girls to marry, but who were not yet married and who every day asked what there would be to eat, knowing that there would be nothing.

He spent his days looking for what he could bring them back and did not find much.

One day, a winter day without bread, he suddenly saw in front of him a field covered with blue cabbages. Those cabbages that are put in soup and that are tender and crunchy. They seemed so numerous to him that it was like an ocean. But what surprised him most was that he had never seen such a field, in that place, before.

Without trying to find out more, he threw himself at this godsend. He wanted to pull out these cabbages to take them away as quickly as possible.

He could not pull out a single one. These cabbages were as if attached to the earth of this strange field. As if connected by threads. The poor man was overcome by a desperate anger. He began to hit the cabbages, kicking and punching.

He heard a rumbling, and suddenly saw a rock rise up above him and the field, an enormous stone. It was neither field nor stone! It was the head of a giant and the field was his chest on which his blue beard feel like cabbages.

The poor man wanted to run away but the giant had seized him with two of his enormous fingers. He brought him close to his face and asked him gently: What was he doing in that beard? Why had he disturbed him?

The poor man told everything: his misfortune, his misery, his four daughters to marry, feed and clothe.

“Give me one and you will never be hungry again. Otherwise, since you are disturbing me, I will crush you like a fly!”

The man did not hesitate much. Fear, misery, stupidity, the urgency of his decision did not help him to think. He accepted.

When the appointment was made, he quickly returned home, reassured and almost happy to have gotten rid of the danger, and also of his eldest daughter.

Without being heard by the others, he came to tell his daughter that a prince was in love with her, that she had to go see him near his castle as soon as possible, to come to an understanding and to marry him.

The girl did not argue. The opportunity was too good to miss, to leave such a poor father to find a powerful husband. She urged him to leave.

On their way, crossing a river, they came across washerwomen who were washing fine shirts that they were putting in baskets. The oldest of the washerwomen spoke to the girl:

“Help me carry this linen!”

The other did not look at her. She was not going to compromise such an attractive marriage to help such poor people!

When they arrived at the field, they found a drawbridge, in front of the bridge, a purse full of money and behind it, a large door that opened a crack.

The poor man pushed his daughter inside despite the terror she had, he pushed it and the door closed.

He waited but he did not hear a noise. That seemed enough to him to think that everything was fine. He took the purse and then returned home, very pleased with his good deal.

So his elder daughter disappeared and no one knew how, except him and the giant. He did not try to find out what had become of her. He worried about it the day he found his purse empty.

So he returned to the field. His blue beard waved under the winter sky. Very, very respectfully, he pulled on one of the curls that was shaped like a cabbage.

And, like the first time, the blue giant straightened up. The old man was terrified. He hesitated to ask for news of his elder daughter but what he wanted most was to ask for money.

He did not need to do so. It was the giant who asked:

“Give me your second daughter if you want to earn money and if you want to save your life!”

The old man asked for nothing else. He did not ask any questions. He did what he had done again.

And like her elder sister, the second was too happy to believe she had escaped misfortune.

She left with her father, did not listen to the washerwoman, ducked behind the door and was the father able to take the salary from this affair.

Ill-gotten money evaporates without one knowing how to do without it.

A third time, the father headed for the blue field. And as the previous times, things went well.

It was the last one's turn. The youngest, the innocent one, the one who wanted to stay home to watch over her father who was left alone since the others had left.

Everything had to be explained to her: the story of the older sisters and the giant, the choice he had left her: a daughter or to be killed.

She agreed to give herself up, but took a raven and a dove on her shoulder to send news: white and joyful news, black and dangerous news.

They met the washerwomen on the way.

The oldest asked her to help her carry the laundry. She came to help her immediately.

Then the old woman gave her three small colored handkerchiefs, the first white, the second red, the other blue:

-Take them for your wedding day, they are a shirt, a dress and a coat. And you will not take them off until your husband also takes off similar clothes.

The washerwoman returned to her shirts at the washhouse and the girl to her way.

They came to the gate. The father took his money. And the girl and her two birds went into the castle.

She enters the castle, the brave young girl and she is all amazed.

It is a magnificent palace, all lit up, all illuminated and so well made, so well arranged that it is as if she had always lived in this palace.

She crosses the lounges, the rooms, the apartments. She sees there, she recognizes there what she had guessed to see there, except that everything is blue.

The young girl arrives at the dining room, where the meal is prepared with everything she prefers.

The giant is there, suddenly, and invites her. They then sit down at the table. It is like her father told her during their journey: his skin, his beard, his hair are blue, pale blue like anger, like winter cabbages.

And yet, he seems less big, less big than a large stone and a field. But a terrible sadness can be read on his face, a heavy blue sadness.

When they have finished eating, he takes her to his room then withdraws without saying anything.

The next day, at dawn, he stands ready to lead her, to show her what he has.

He says:

“Everything belongs to you. Take whatever you want.”

But she looks and is silent, admires but does not dare say anything and it is he who must guess what she would like to ask.

The days pass thus, discovering themselves to each other, being silent and listening to each other, revealing themselves without saying anything.

She was no longer afraid of him, nor of his astonishing appearance. But as for him, the more time went by, the more he seemed worried. It was as if he had feared that a noise or a movement might shatter a hope she was unaware of.

She had asked him for news of her three sisters.

He had not invented any, he had said: They died because of their imprudence!

He had said nothing more.

In the evening, when they separated, all the lamps went out. And he had forbidden her to light a single candle before dawn the next day.

He joined her in the night and left her before daybreak. And if she had not known who he was and what he had probably done, she would have loved him very much.

Almost a year had passed. One morning, he came to find her, more serious and sadder than ever:

“I am going to go on a journey and you are going to be left alone. I leave you all my keys, the hundred keys to the house. Everything in it is for you. Go wherever you wish. Except to the lower room where I keep what belongs to me. I beg you not to go there, otherwise I am not responsible for anything.”

He tells her all this in a whisper and he leaves and she finds herself alone.

She does not hesitate for long. She knows that she must discover what this house hides.

She runs to the lower room and with the small key opens the unfortunate door.

A suffocating stench immediately takes hold of her by the throat.

She advances inside. She perceives, in the silence, the dull noise, the slow and brief noise of heavy drops that crash.

There is, in this darkness, a glowing light that escapes from a smoking fire. And this threatening glow reveals the brownish shadows that are suspended from the ceiling.

After a moment, she understands the giant's horrible secret: these shadows, these noises, this smell, are the blood, the flesh, the limbs and the remains of the wives who preceded her in this place and those of her elder sisters who were murdered and cut up.

She guesses almost everything that had happened: they had come here driven by curiosity. They had been betrayed by a secret, a magic. The giant thus warned had killed them immediately.

They had dropped this key which was magic. And this key had spoken to warn the murderer.

The young girl this time does not drop the key.

Among all the butchery, she recognizes her three sisters, their heads, their trunks, their limbs.

With tenderness, she gathers the pieces. And their bodies are reconstituted. And as if by magic breathe, but nevertheless remain asleep.

While she is at her work,She suddenly notices another door in the room. A very small door.

Curiosity takes hold of her. She wants to know what is behind this little door. She opens it and discovers a staircase. She goes down.

She arrives in a cave. A gigantic cavern, as big as the whole world, with a vault as vast as a starry night sky.

And under this sky unfolds a marvelous landscape, made of hills, rivers, mountains, fields and rocks.

But when the moon appears and illuminates the cavern, she understands what she sees: it was not a landscape, but the sleeping body of a man.

And under the moonlight, she recognizes the giant who sleeps almost peacefully.

In the middle of his chest, as vast as a valley, flows a white river.

And on the edges, washerwomen wash soiled linen, shirts stained with blood.

And each time a shirt is cleaned, the giant sighs and sobs.

And his complaints are so touching that the young girl forgets to hold the key, and lets it go.

As soon as it is no longer held, as soon as it is abandoned, the key swells, twists and screams, it screams and it warns:

“This woman has disobeyed! This woman has disobeyed!”

Then the washerwomen flee, the river stops flowing and the valley, on the giant's chest becomes a gaping wound again.

Then the giant wakes up, resumes his tormented form. His beard and his skin become pale blue like anger, like cabbages in winter.

He addresses the young girl:

“You did not know how to keep the key. This cursed fairy key that watches over me to keep me cursed. Because of you, I become again the one who only does evil, the one who separates and who kills, the one who cannot stop himself from killing so great is his fear and who will kill you too.”

He immediately seizes his ax and begins to sharpen it, while grinding between his teeth which excite his grindstone:

“Guise, guise, my grindstone! Guise my beautiful gray blade! Crips, criss for the betrothed! Guise, guise, I caught her disobeying me! Guise my beautiful gray blade! I'm going to cut her throat!”

She says to him:

“Listen to me! Since you are going to kill me, grant me a favor! I would like to become your wife before I die. I would like you to marry me before you kill me. And I want, for that moment, my bridal finery. Let me go and get dressed.”

The giant does not answer her, but while sharpening his ax, he signals her to go.

She runs out of the cave. Quickly climbs the stairs. Finds her sisters awake. Quickly tells them what to do:

Climb to the top of the tower. Open the raven's cage, so that it can fly away and warn their brothers who have returned from war. Watch, watch and watch, then warn when they arrive.

The three sisters climb the tower and make the raven fly away. The young girl is in her room. She unfolds the three handkerchiefs that the washerwoman had given her.

Then she undresses and takes the first white handkerchief. She puts it on her chest. It makes a shirt for her.

But down below the monster is busy:

“Guise, guise, my millstone! Guise my beautiful gray blade! Squeal, squeal for the betrothed! Guise, guise, I caught her disobeying me! Guise my beautiful gray blade! I'm going to cut her throat!”

And suddenly he gets impatient: “Is your finery on?”

And the young girl answers: “I can't find my chemise.”

Then she addresses her sisters:

“Don't you see anything coming?

And the three sisters answer her:

“We only see the paleness of the dawn that is about to arrive and nothing, and nothing on the way.”

But she, she looks for the handkerchief, the second little red handkerchief. She unfolds it on her body and it makes her a robe. And the giant shouts again:

And shouts even louder: “Is this chemise on?”

She answers: “It is on, but now I'm looking for my robe!”

Then she addresses her sisters:

“Don't you see anything coming?”

And the three sisters answered him:

“We see the sun coming, lighting up the horizon, but nothing, nothing on the path.”

She took the last handkerchief, the blue handkerchief, and placed it on her shoulders, and it made her a coat. A blue coat like the giant's beard.

The monster howled like a madman:

“It's on properly. I can't find the coat!”

Then she addressed her sisters: “Don't you see anything coming?”

And the three sisters answered her:

“We only see the morning and the sad day that is coming. And then also three horsemen in the distance!”

But it is probably too late, because here is the giant coming up to look for her.

So she must resolve to go down to find him.

And he, when he sees her coming, dressed in her three handkerchiefs, he remains completely bewildered, so perfect is this finery.

He orders:

“Take off this coat!”

And she, without knowing why, answers:

“Take off a coat like this!!”

These words make him angry, even more than he was there, but he cannot refuse her what she has just asked.

With both hands, he takes his blue beard, pale blue like anger, like winter cabbages. He tears it off his face.

And all his giant skin, which was blue like his beard, he tears off his whole body. Then, she takes off his coat.

But under this skin of anger, which the giant had just lost, appears a red crust like the dried earth.

He asks:

“Take off your dress!”

She answers:

“Take off a dress like this!”

He tears off the two lips of his wound from his chest. And all the crust of earth that had covered him until then cracks and crumbles into dust. Then, she takes off her dress.

But under the layer of earth, which the giant had just lost, appears a skin of stone, like a white and pointed rock, a yoke of sharp stones.

He asks her in a breath:

“Take off your shirt now.”

She answers:

“Take off a shirt like this!”

The giant begins to tremble, to tremble from head to toe. Trembling so much that he makes the castle tremble. And suddenly, the rock breaks, the stones split, finally break.

Then the man emerges from his shell, old and young at the same time, full of strength, but exhausted, like a newborn in the hands of the one who gives birth to him. And she took off her shirt.

The three brothers had arrived. They had blown up the door and were running to the cavern. The three sisters accompanied them.

They arrived too late. The young girl had defeated the curse. She had freed the prince.

There was only a queen and a king left, happy to be free.

There were only sweet, tender and affectionate words.

Nothing more of the sinister past.

Nothing more of what had been feared, nothing more of what had been believed.

"Curse, curses, Spells, imprecations: Words of blood, words of lead."

It was all gone, like a dream.

Again, thanks for helping me find this gem again

@ariel-seagull-wings @the-blue-fairie @thealmightyemprex @tamisdava2 @princesssarisa @adarkrainbow @piterelizabethdevries @natache @theancientvaleofsoulmaking

#fairy tales #bluebeard #french fairy tales #french culture

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